Of Pasts and Redemptions
by Whisperblaze luvs Dramione
Summary: Given the choice between life and death, Draco Malfoy would choose life. Given the choice between his life or someone else's, he'd pick his own. Given the choice between facing his consequences—his death—or forcing the punishment on someone else…well, to Draco Malfoy, no one was more important than he. For whose life could be worth more than his own? Summary in chap1; Dramione HBP
1. Second Chance

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, though I wish I did!**

 **Rated T for violence (I guess, IDK) and some language.**

 **Informal summary: Basically, Draco is given the choice to either face his consequences and die or go back in time and relive part of his past, which will allow him to live. By doing so, however, he is sentencing someone he cares about to death, as good as replacing him. Obviously, he chooses life. Because come on, it's Draco, what else is he going to do?**

 **It's actually a great story, guys, I think it flows really well. Please read and see what you think!**

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 _They are coming._

He doubled over, ragged breath ripping through him as he gripped his platinum blonde hair with white fingers and knuckles, eyes screwed shut in pain and mind-numbing terror. He could see him, snake eyes infuriated, wand pointed menacingly, about to take the life of the sixteen-year-old boy who pleaded before him desperately, on his knees, begging for his life.

That boy was him. He was going to die. He knew it with every fiber of his being, and he was petrified beyond words.

 _They are coming for you._

The boy visibly shook, hands still pulling agonizingly at his hair in an attempt to calm himself down. Ahead of him, his deranged aunt was setting fire to a lopsided hut that sat next to the Forbidden Forest while Snape yelled at Potter, but he couldn't care enough to pay attention to any of this. He was too terrified about what was surely about to happen to him.

 _I'm about to die._

Yes, the deed was done, but it was not by his own hand, and so his fate stood in front of him, looming and unyielding. He was doomed.

"Not quite doomed, Draco."

The voice caused him to turn around, fright making his grey eyes three times their normal size. Behind him stood, or rather floated, a dead man. He was dead, Draco knew it, for he had seen him fall from the astronomy tower not twenty minutes ago, hit by Snape's own spell. But here he was, long beard drifting in the slight wind of the dark and gloomy night. His half-moon spectacles were perched upon his nose as if it were any normal day, hands clasped behind his back, the small smile on his face effectively throwing off the horrific mood of the night.

Yes, he was dead. He had no solid body, but wasn't exactly a ghost, his appearance more similar to that of a patronus. He floated there, looking into Draco's eyes calmly.

It was too much for Draco. His breaths still coming in great rasps, he blinked the fearful tears from his eyes. "What are you doing here? You're dead!"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, I am."

"So what's your deal?!"

Dumbledore smiled. "My deal is that I am here to help you. You need it."

Draco was shaking his head before the headmaster's words were even fully from his lips. "No, no no no, there's no help for me now. None. I'm doomed, dead. I'm dead." He dropped to his knees, the tears finally falling from his eyes as a particularly large burst of flames burst from Hagrid's Hut, met with a cheer from Bellatrix. He sobbed helplessly, his body shaking on the dead grass below him.

"As I said before," Dumbledore said, "not quite."

Draco looked at him, cheeks drenched. "Wha-what do you m-mean?"

Dumbledore gave the boy a kind smile. "I mean that you will not die. Not if you choose to, at least."

In a very Malfoy-ish manner, a surge of anger shot through Draco. What did this man take him for, an idiot? He knew he was done for; there was no avoiding the Dark Lord's wand any longer.

Before the teenager could say anything, Dumbledore chuckled again. "No, I don't take you for an idiot, Draco. And I'm not lying to you. You will live if you only listen to me."

Draco's shock at Dumbledore's ability to read his thoughts was pushed aside in his urgency to hear his words, for the boy was desperate to cling to hope, any kind of it. "What? What are you saying?"

"You will be given a second chance, Draco," the dead man said calmly. "A chance to rewrite your story. To go back and change the words on the page to what should be written."

Draco swallowed, wanting to believe him, but refusing to in the current situation. "I-I don't believe you."

Dumbledore shrugged. "Whether you believe me or not does not matter. If you stay, you will die. If you take my hand, you will survive. I see no reason for me to lie to you now, do you?"

Draco's mind was racing. Despite his better instincts, he was believing him. It was the only thing for him to hold onto at the moment.

Yet Dumbledore continued before Draco could become too excited at the prospect of everything turning out fine. "But be warned of this: the prolongation of your existence and prevention of your death will only shorten the life belonging to another."

A cold hand gripped the boy's heart. "Who?"

"That I cannot say. But it is someone you will come to care about immensely."

Draco had to pause to take everything in. If he took his hand, he'd live, redo his past so that his future may exist…

…but in doing so, he would kill someone else, an unknown person whom he'd like, possibly a friend.

"How would this work?"

Dumbledore smiled. "You will be taken into your past and effectively relive it, but there will be a small change from before, a difference from what you have already lived through. It will seem small at first, but will turn into a large part of your life. This event will save you."

 _But it will doom someone else…_

Draco shivered at the thought, but was distracted by an explosion behind him as something flammable in the hut finally caught fire, illuminating the land.

Breathing very hard, Draco slowly turned back to Dumbledore. He had made up his mind.

With a leap of fear and desperation, he took the dead man's hand and was gone in the blink of an eye, disappearing into the night with a small pop.

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 **950 words. Not bad for an opener XD**

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	2. Sixth Year

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Blinking his eyes to clear them of the fog that shrouded them so profusely, Draco wasn't sure what he more surprised of: the fact that it had worked, or that he was standing in the entrance to the Great Hall.

 _Of all the places…_

Yet he couldn't complain. Not in the slightest. He was alive, he was safe. He wasn't about to be murdered by the evilest wizard to ever walk the earth.

But _when_ was he? Looking around, he saw a flood of students rushing out of the Great Hall, the prefects leading many scared and excited first years to their new dorms. Behind him, Draco spotted a very agitated Potter nursing a horribly bloody nose, holding a cloth damp with his own blood up to it.

The night before his first day of sixth year. That's what today was.

So it really _had_ worked. God bless Dumbledore, for the man had somehow saved his life. A twinge of guilt went through Draco; he had tried to kill the headmaster, yet once he was dead, he had looked upon the teenager with warmth and had acted kindly towards him, even though the boy had attempted to end his life. No matter what opinions he had had before, Draco knew that he was wrong, for Albus Dumbledore truly was as great as they all said he was.

Walking more confidently now, though undoubtedly still shaken up from his past—or rather, future—experiences, Draco headed off towards the Slytherin common room. Oh, how he looked forward to his four poster bed, loyally waiting for him as usual. And the crackling fire, that would be quite the sight to his sore eyes. All he wanted was to be somewhere familiar, somewhere that was a home to him.

Then again, Hogwarts had never been his home. Not really, at least.

Shaking these thoughts from his head, Draco took off towards the dungeons, listening to the incessant chattering of the other Slytherin students in front of him. He stayed back from them a bit, not wanting to have to take part in any conversation. He wasn't in the mood.

After saying the password, pigstool fortuna, Draco ducked under the low ceiling of the passageway into the common room, finally straightening up with a sigh of relief when the sight of the room greeted him.

But his relief didn't last long. He was barely able to stifle his groan of irritation before a pair of arms were flung around his shoulders and a head full of black hair was shoved into his neck.

"Draco!" Pansy whimpered. "Where have you been? You showed up for a bit of dinner and then left. You got me worried about you!"

"Yeah, well," Draco managed awkwardly as he finally managed to unlatch the parasite from around his neck. "it shouldn't matter to you where I go."

Her pug-like face fell, drowning her already unpleasant features in sadness. "But you know it _does_ matter to me! I don't know what I would do if—"

"Save it, Parkinson," Draco drawled, shoving past her as he walked to his dorm. "I'm not in the mood. Nor am I ever, mind you."

The very hurt Pansy Parkinson huffed in disappointment, turning her own feet towards her room. Maybe she'd get lucky the next day.

. . . ….. . . .

On the other side of the campus, Hermione Granger climbed through the portrait hole, already emanating agitation and annoyance as usual despite the fact that they were hardly a day into the school year.

"Oh, come on, Harry!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms up in the air and letting them flop back to her side lifelessly. "Just tell us what happened! It's no small thing, having you show up during dinner with a blood-soaked scrap of cloth shoved to your face."

"Look," the black-haired boy sighed, doing his best to not lose his patience. "It's no big deal. Just forget about it."

But she was too adamant to be thrown off so easily. "If it's no big deal, I see no reason for you to not tell me."

Ron groaned. "Hermione, give the man a break. So what, he doesn't want to tell us, it's not the end of the world."

Hermione rolled eyes. "I never said it was, Ronald, I just think that best friends should tell each other when these sort of things happen."

"We all have our secrets," the redhead retorted. "Why should Harry be any different?"

"This isn't a secret! Everyone saw that his face got messed up, that was obvious! It's just why it happened that's getting to me." Hermione couldn't for the life of her understand how damn thick he could possibly be to not get it through his skull that this could be important.

As if reading her mind, Ron sighed. "Look, if it was important, Harry would tell us. Wouldn't you, mate?"

"Yes, I would," he responded, nodding. "Really, Hermione, it's nice that you care and all, but it doesn't matter."

She narrowed her eyes. This was just a _great_ way to start the school year. "I repeat: if it doesn't matter, why withhold the information?"

"God, woman!" Ron yelled, earning the three teenagers some alarmed looks from others in the room. "Lay off him! You're being completely irrational and bossy! Let him be!"

Hermione frowned at him. "I don't think I—"

"Just shut it, would you?" Harry snapped, the loss of blood coupled with their bickering getting to his nerves, making his temper shorter than usual. "Forget it."

There was a moment of tense silence before Hermione finally spoke. "Fine," she said stiffly, anger radiating from her. "I'll see you both in the morning."

Leaving the two to roll their eyes at her back, Hermione went to her dorm, sighing as she sat on her bed.

 _Fantastic,_ she thought. _Not even a full day into the school year and we're already in a fight._

Pushing aside her thoughts for the time being, the sixth year prefect got changed into her pajamas, deciding to head to bed early. The following day would be the first of a new year, with new tasks and new things to learn. Maybe in the morning, their fight would be gone from their memories and they'd be perfectly fine again.

But for now, she'd stare at the ceiling and wait, thinking of all that she hoped to accomplish this year. Get top marks in her classes, of course, perhaps make a few new friends.

And maybe even start a new relationship with a certain redheaded boy.

Turning on her side, Hermione drifted off to sleep, a small smile playing on her lips.

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 **Wow 1116 words. Nice.**

 **And don't worry, the chapters will start to get longer, eventually at least. Question, though: how long do you prefer chapters to be? The past two have been about 1000, so do you think that's a good length or should they be shorter or longer?**

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	3. Fifteen Minutes Late

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Draco ran down the empty hallway, slinging his bookbag over his shoulder yet again as it slid down his arm.

 _What an amazing way to start the school year off._

He had overslept, waking at the sound of the bell. Panicking, he'd thrown on his clothes and dashed out of the door hurriedly. Ignoring the pangs of hunger growling at him in his stomach, demanding his attention, he'd skipped breakfast and raced to Potions class.

Now, with the door to the room ahead of him, he could finally breathe. Checking his watch, he saw that he was only…fifteen minutes late. That wasn't so bad, right?

But, walking into the classroom, Draco realized just how catastrophic those fifteen minutes were. He was late, and so had missed picking seats in the class, and the only open seat left was next to the bushy-haired, know-it-all, beaver toothed Gryffindor whom he despised so profoundly.

The mudblood.

 _Awesome. Just awesome._

Collapsing into his chair and ignoring the professor's greeting to him, Draco turned his head away from the mudblood, refusing to look anywhere near her. He hated her guts; why did he have to sit next to her? This was the worst possible way for his second chance to begin, having to talk to this pathetic excuse for a human.

Focusing on the board in front of the stuffy class, Draco saw that they were to make the Draught of Living Death. Remembering the lesson from last time, he let out a pff of air, knowing how this was going to end.

 _Potter's going to do the best, it doesn't make any difference._

Nonetheless, he grabbed his cauldron, set a fire, and began to mix in ingredients, if only to keep his attention away from the person sitting directly to his right.

He would be able to survive this class if he didn't have to talk to her, but he knew the silence wouldn't last long. She was a Gryffindor, after all. She'd try to make some sort of conversation eventually.

And his prediction came true not a full minute later. Clearing her throat slightly, the mudblood spoke. "Malfoy. Nice of you to show up late to class."

He sneered angrily, hands clenching into fists. What made her think it was okay for her to talk to him, in that tone of voice especially? "How dare you speak to me, you filthy mudblood? Does it look like I'd want to talk to someone as low as you?"

She huffed angrily, turning back to her own cauldron. Draco smirked as he added his cut up sopophorous bean to the mixture, watching as it turned a light green color. That had shut her up. But Draco had forgotten just how much he loved tormenting her, and so he continued to do so.

"I can't for the life of me understand how you have any friends at all, you know," he drawled, seeing her stiffen in his peripherals. "You're irritating, annoying, and you look like a bloated beaver corpse. Uncannily so."

"Well, Malfoy, I can't say much more of you," the mudblood spat, hair growing bushier by the second. "You're just a stuck up, arrogant, albino narcissist who thinks he's better than everyone else because of his blood. Are you really so ignorant to think that's all a person is?"

Draco's grey eyes were filled to the brim with fury. "At least I don't have to tag after a couple of glory seeking bastards!"

Her eyes widened, and she turned to him, the two finally making eye contact. "Don't you dare say that about my friends!"

Sensing that he'd touched a nerve, Draco smirked. He could use this. "Oh, is that what you call them? Friends? Is that why you're sitting on the other side of the room from where they are?"

The mudblood looked across the class, seeing Scarhead and Weaselby both laughing and stirring their cauldrons as they talked. She seemed to lose her gusto at the sight, turning back to her own potion with anger and hurt in her eyes. She refused to look at the boy who sat next to her now, and Draco fed off of this.

"Oooo, so I _am_ right!" he sneered. "Did the dream team break up already? Pity, it's only the first day of school. Then again, not even two idiots as stupid as they could want to be friends with you."

She still didn't say a word. So Draco filled the silence with his own voice, loving every second that he tormented her. "Get in a fight, did you? I've got to say, I'm impressed with Scarface and the ginger. Finally worked up the guts to ditch your sorry ass. Then again, it took them this long, so their cowardly ways must have gotten in the way. I'd never be so stupid to put up with you for so long."

The mudblood sighed, shooting him an enraged glare. "Harry and Ron aren't like that. So what, we got in a small fight. That doesn't mean we hate each other now. At least we've got each other at all."

"Oh, and you're implying I have no one?" Her silence confirmed his statement. "Open your eyes, mudblood. I've got more friends than you have! Not to mention that they actually listen to what I have to say, unlike you. Tell me, how _does_ it feel to be the least liked of the 'Golden Trio,' as they call it? The one to prance after them on every 'great' adventure you three have, your presence only being necessary because of your brain? Because let's face it, if you didn't have your snout in a book every moment of the day, they'd have no use for you and discard you like the trash you are."

He saw her swallow, clearly affected by his words, and a sense of victory surged through him. He leaned towards her slightly, grey eyes narrowed as he smirked. "Or am I wrong, mudblood?"

She looked away, eyes furious as she opened her mouth to counter him, but Slughorn called for silence before she could get out a syllable of what would have been her pathetic defense. The professor walked through the classroom, inspecting each cauldron, and awarded Potter the Felix Felicis as Draco knew he would. Looking at the mudblood, he saw the disbelief in her eyes. She was clearly shocked that she had not received the award, and bested by Potter, at that.

As he packed his things away and the bell rang for them to be dismissed, Draco couldn't resist throwing one more insult her way. "Potter isn't as incompetent as you previously thought, clearly. Maybe they _don't_ need you after all."

And he walked out of the door, heading towards Defense Against the Dark Arts with a smug look planted on his face. It was only then that he realized the scene in Potions that he had just lived through never happened before, when he had first sat in the Potions class on the actual first day of his sixth year.

It seemed as if things were about to change.

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 **1186 words. A bit longer, I guess…**

 **The chapters will start to get longer as the story progresses, but the next few will continue to be about this length.**

 **Hope you liked chapter 3! Next one will be up soon! Please be sure to review, follow, and favorite! Especially review, they're my motivation!**

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	4. Worrisome Thoughts

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The excruciating pain shot through his contorted body, making him thrash uncontrollably on the hard dirt floor. He was being ripped apart, starting at his chest and slowly, horribly slowly, moving outwards. His screams were the music of the dead, shattering what had been an eerie silence, peppering it with the sound of his misery.

As his eyeballs seemed to explode and his ears bled from the claws that were raking through his brain so agonizingly, a cold laugh sounded above him. It was heartless, unknowing of joy, the only pleasing emotion it had ever known being derived from the torture of others. And as the owner of the voice looked upon the boy at his feet, he only pointed his wand at him and uttered the word again, even angrier this time than before if it was possible.

" _Crucio!_ "

Draco let out another ear shattering screech as his body seemed to implode upon itself. He'd never thought that this level of pain could even exist in the world, that death would surely have come before this. And oh how he wished for the beautiful release that was death to come for him now, rescuing him from his doom.

He couldn't see. The pain had become so horrifically unbearable that his eyes had rolled, throwing his mind into a state of blind agony. Every inch of his body, every cell, was focused on the pain that racked through him so profusely. He couldn't see, he couldn't think, he couldn't comprehend anything, anything but the pain in his aching limbs and the sound of his impending death.

His hands were at his head, raking down his face in an attempt to distract himself from the hurt by causing more harm to his body, concentrated entirely upon his cheeks. But it didn't change the fact that the pain was everywhere, and as his fingernails caused hot blood to flow quickly from his forehead, his need for death was only intensified.

He scratched at his face, the previous screams of agony turning into whimpers of want, of need. He had no energy left. He couldn't carry on any longer. And as his body flopped to the ground, the red of his own discomfort seeping into his skin and unseeing eyes, he pleaded for the release, such sweet release.

And as if God himself had looked down on him with kindness and mercy, the pain was gone. He ached still, yes, but the magnified agony ceased to exist for him. He gasped air into his lungs, who had seemed to have forgotten how to carry out their jobs, and panted as the most delicious oxygen he'd ever breathed filled him up.

But just as his pain had ended, so had the entertainment of the man above him. "You are no use to me now, young Malfoy."

The teenager knew what was to come before the words were even screamed.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

The bright green light was all that he saw for the longest of moments, but when he opened his eyes again, he was not dead. No, he was instead looking down at a crumpled and bloody body, surprisingly not his own. Who it belonged to, however, was indiscernible, for nothing gave even a hint of the identity. No hair length, body shape, or even race would betray to him the secret of the dead's name.

For it was meant to be a mystery.

And as Draco awoke in his bed, sweating more than he had in years, the cold sound of a high laugh filled his nightmares and ears alike.

. . . ….. . . .

It was impossible to know how long Draco sat on his bed, running his hands through his platinum blonde hair to try to calm his racing nerves. But no matter how many times his long fingers combed over his head, he couldn't stop his shaking and quiet his rising fear.

Finally, knowing he wouldn't be getting back to sleep anytime soon, Draco got out of his four-poster bed, pulled on his dark green, silk robe, and headed to the common room. He was relieved and thankful beyond words to see that it was deserted, the only sign of movement being the crackling fire in the fireplace.

Fixing himself a cup of hot tea, Draco sat in the armchair directly in front of the fire, sipping from his mug slowly. The boiling water burned his tongue, but he didn't mind in the slightest; anything to help keep his mind from the pain he'd just endured was something he welcomed.

As the scolding liquid swept down his throat and pooled in his stomach, the Slytherin boy couldn't keep a frightening thought from plaguing his mind. He knew, without a doubt, that had he not taken Dumbledore's hand on the night he died, had he stayed to suffer the consequences, he would have died in the exact same way the person in his dream had.

And the thought was followed by an even darker one: by not taking the punishment, had he somehow transferred the exact same fate to another person? Yes, he knew someone other than him was supposedly going to die, but would it be in the same terrible way, an identical replica of the dream?

Stifling a shiver of dread that ran through him, Draco plastered a sneer on his face, trying to feign nonchalance. As long as he didn't die, why should it matter to him how someone else perished? He would be alive, and that was all that mattered.

But he couldn't ignore the tiny, nagging voice in the back of his mind that said that he wouldn't wish such a death on any person, friend or enemy. No one, other than the Dark Lord, perhaps, deserved such a horrible way to die.

Setting his tea down on the rug beneath him, Draco stood, double checking that his wand was in his pocket. He needed to clear his mind, and the best way to do so was to get out of such a stuffy room. So, leaving behind his bed and hopefully his worrisome thoughts as well, he climbed from the portrait hole, entering the corridors of Hogwarts which were shrouded in darkness as much as his own mind was.

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 **1046 words. Kind of short but longer than I expected it to be XD**

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	5. Midnight Stroll

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 **Enjoy the new chapter!**

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The moon shone through the windows of Hogwarts as Hermione patrolled the floors, wand lit as she walked. There was something peaceful about being alone at night; the solitude had an opposite effect on the girl than it did on most, calming her instead of frightening her or making her ache for the company of others. No, she took it as an opportunity to get some thinking done.

And how she loved to think.

On this particular night, she was irritated. The day had gone quite horribly, in fact. It had started off with potions, where she'd had to sit next to the most infuriating boy in the entire school. The whole time, while she'd tried to work on her potion and pay attention, he'd poked fun at her, hurting her more than she cared to admit. Not that she expected any more from the stuck-up prat.

Afterwards, she'd tried talking to Ronald and Harry, but the former refused to even give her the time of day. Clearly he was still ticked off at her for what had happened the night previous.

 _Oh, really!_ she'd thought. _Is this honestly necessary? I'm trying to look past your indecency and_ this _is how you repay me?!_

She'd tried making conversation and putting their past stupid fight behind them, but Ron, and therefor Harry, had refused to act like mature adults. Instead, they'd shunned her like children, making her feelings of rage and melancholy be multiplied tenfold.

But this time, she was adamant and would not apologize. There had been so many times in the past where her two friends would team up against her and make her feel like she was the one who constantly did wrong, and she'd eventually tell them of how sorry she was, if only for them to be friends again.

Well not this time. She was tired of them making her feel like she was the bad guy and she refused to be so easily movable, bending easily to their words. She needed to learn to get a backbone and she'd be damned if this was the first thing she gave up on.

As she turned a corner of the school, going down a flight of stairs, words spoken to her earlier that day floated into her mind. _"Tell me, how_ does _it feel to be the least liked of the 'Golden Trio,' as they call it? The one to prance after them on every 'great' adventure you three have, your presence only being necessary because of your brain? Because let's face it, if you didn't have your snout in a book every moment of the day, they'd have no use for you and discard you like the trash you are."_

The words worried her quite a lot, sadly because she believed them somewhat. When they'd been snarled in her face, the hard grey eyes of the owner of the words looking so sure of themselves, Hermione had believed him. What if the Slytherin was right? Maybe that _was_ the only reason she was friends with Harry and Ron, so that they could use her for her smarts.

She shook herself, saying that she was being ridiculous. Of course they were friends with her for more than her brain. How could she even think that?

But then she recalled a memory that had begun to fade, one from five years ago. In her first year, they'd hated her. "A nightmare," as she remembered Ron calling her. And then when he'd seen that she was upset because of it, what did he do?

Nothing. He just shrugged and asked why he should even care.

The uncanny resemblance of Ron to the boy sitting next to Hermione in Potions was enough to make her stop walking and blink in surprise. Thinking about it, she was sure that Ron had reacted in exactly the same way the Slytherin would have had he been in the situation.

Continuing her trek through the halls, Hermione's mind became jumbled with thoughts of confusion. If Ron and Harry had been so mean to her back then, had they ever changed? _Really_ changed? Yes, to her they seemed kind and fun, but that was because she hung out with them all the time. Had she become used to their snobbish attitudes just because of how trite they had become?

 _No,_ she thought. _They're my friends. I wouldn't be friends with them if they were actually like_ him.

But his words came back to her and she became nervous again. What if they were simply feigning friendship for her mind? She thought of all the times she'd done their homework for them, earned them high grades because of her constant nagging to study…

 _Was_ that the only reason that she was their "friend?"

More troubling than that thought was the next one that crossed her mind: what if their little group of three wasn't as nice as she'd thought them to be? What if the only ones who saw them to be so kind were the three of them themselves?

What if everyone viewed them in the way that they viewed the pureblood narcissist and his posse?

Because he couldn't possibly see himself in the way Hermione saw him. He probably thought of himself as perfect, intelligent, superior to all, and the overall protagonist to everyone's story. Whereas she thought of him as stuck up, cruel, hateful, and a horrible human being.

But what of her own mind? Didn't _she_ think the same things of herself as he did of _him_ self? She thought she was pretty flawless when it came to most things, and of course she was smart. She didn't necessarily think she was superior to _everyone,_ but she _did_ think she was at least better than he was. And she was a good person, in her eyes at least, so it was impossible for her to see how anyone could see her as a bad guy.

And she somehow knew that the boy must think of her in the same way that she thought of him, as a stuck up, cruel, hateful, and horrible human being.

So who was to say who the good guy and the bad guy actually were?

She was distracted from this brain-splitting question by a quiet shuffle at the bottom of the stairs that she was descending. Narrowing her eyes, she saw the form of a person walking past the stairs, turning into a passing corridor. They didn't seem to even have the decency to realize that what they were doing, being out and about during sleeping hours, was against Hogwarts school rules.

Sighing in anger that the person had thrown off her train of thought, Hermione hurried down the stairs, turning to the left and then the left again to follow them. Jogging slightly, she caught up enough to see their form about to take a right, along another hall.

"Hey!" Hermione called, not bothering to keep the irritation from her voice. "What do you think you're—"

But her voice was cut off as she yelped in surprise and threw herself to the ground in order to dodge the blast of red light that had been shot in her direction. Looking up, she saw the boy, his wand pointed at her, his form still thrown in darkness by the shadows of the great school. He was shaking, apparently from great shock and fear, and he lowered his wand only when he realized who it was.

"Mudblood?" the voice rang out, full of malice and contempt. At the sound, Hermione pulled herself to her feet, reaching for her wand. _Of course_ it was him, the one who enjoyed tormenting her so much.

"Malfoy?" she spat, dusting off her robes. "What are you doing out here at night?" The anger and hate in her voice were so easily discernable that she could have written it on a sign and waved it around, yet it couldn't have been any more clear.

"And why should I have to answer to you?" he scoffed, finally stepping out of the shadows so that the light from the moon bathed his hair in silver light. His grey eyes narrowed as they took in the sight of the girl in front of him, and he smirked.

"Because I am a prefect, mind you," she answered, holding herself higher. "And I could report you for this. Would you like to lose your house a fairly large amount of points so early in the year just because of a late-night stroll?"

Malfoy scowled. "You listen here, mudblood, and you listen good," he said, walking towards her, pointing at her accusingly as he did so. "No one as filthy and low as yourself will ever have any jurisdiction over me and what I do. If I want to take a walk, I bloody will. Nothing you can say is going to stop me. And you _won't_ take any house points from me."

They were now standing ten feet away from each other, glaring daggers in both directions. The air was thick with their rage and loathing.

"Oh?" Hermione said. "And why not?"

With a flash of light and a yelp of pain, Hermione was on the ground, nursing a bloody nose. Malfoy stood over her, planting a foot on her leg as she tried to stand. He dug his heel painfully into her ankle, twisting it as he shoved his wand into her neck. He leaned over, his mouth right next to her ear. She felt his hot, sticky breath on her neck, and it took all of her strength to not flinch away.

"Because if you do," he whispered threateningly. "I _will_ make you pay for it. We sit next to each other now, after all."

With a last kick to her shins, Malfoy shoved Hermione back to the ground and stalked off. He looked over his shoulder as he turned the corner, sending another sentence her way as she unsteadily got to her feet.

"You'd better watch your back, you filthy mudblood."

Hermione wiped at her nose, complete and utter loathing for the boy filling her up. Her pain was the least of her worries currently, though she fixed her broken nose by quickly pointing her wand at her face and saying " _Episkey."_ She decided to leave the bruises on her leg; if Malfoy was to see them, she wanted him to know that she wasn't some wimpy girl who would just erase all of the pain in her life. She could put up with the pain he caused her.

She wasn't stupid enough to not fix her nose, though. She wasn't that adamant.

Sighing, she turned around and resumed her rotation, limping slightly as she went. She shoved her thoughts of the Slytherin nightmare from her mind, deciding he wasn't worth the brainpower to try to comprehend.

After all, he wasn't someone she cared about enough to try to understand.

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 **1825 words. The chapters will from now on probably be around this length.**

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	6. Fights

**OMG I got like 4 more reviews since last chapter! Thank you so much, guys! Please, PLEASE continue to review! They're my motivation and I really do need them! They don't even have to be long reviews, though I do love to read all of your comments XD Please just take a couple seconds to tell me what you think!**

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Draco let out yet another yawn as he grabbed feebly at a bagel in front of him. Light streamed in from the windows lining the Great Hall and the sound of birds outside could be heard over the quiet chattering of the students.

It was the morning after Draco had run into the mudblood in the halls. It hurt his dignity to admit to himself that he should have listened to her and gone back to his dormitory, for he was now exhausted. He wouldn't have been surprised if he'd only gotten three hours of sleep.

The sixteen year old sat with the four people that he could call his "friends," Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, and the leech—er, he meant Parkinson. They talked about how much they hated their new classes, but Draco couldn't concentrate on them. He was simply too exhausted.

"Draco," Pansy said, her voice dripping with honey. Gross, sticky, overly emphasized honey. "Draco, what's wrong? You've barely touched your food and you're not talking!"

"It's nothing," Draco drawled, tensing up as she threw an arm around him. Oh, how he wished he could just tell her off for good.

"I worry about you, you know?" she sighed, batting her eyelashes, a fake look of concern plastered on her face. "You can tell me anything."

"I'm fine," Draco said, tearing through his bagel with a knife a little too roughly. "Just tired, that's all."

"But _why_ are you tired?" Pansy pouted. "I can help you sleep, if you need it."

"No," Draco managed to say through his gritted teeth, choking down his disgust at her suggestive and pathetically seductive comment. "That's not necessar—"

Pansy hugged him tightly. "I don't want you exhausting yourself. Please just let me—"

"Oh, would you just _shut it_ already!" he yelled, throwing his bagel across the room.

His outburst was met with silence from the entire hall. He saw the mudblood looking at him like everyone else, and she just narrowed her eyes and smirked before turning to Pothead and the Weasel.

Slowly, the conversation in the room began to pick up again as Draco turned to his four "friends." Pansy looked to be blinking tears from her eyes, turning to Crabbe who patted her shoulder in a failed attempt at consolation. Goyle had turned back to shoving mini pastries into his face, but Zabini looked furious.

"You mind telling us what's up, mate?" he scowled. "There's no reason to get mad."

"There's nothing _to_ say," Draco sniffed, an angry frown crossing his features. "I'm just tired. Now leave it be if you don't want me to get angry."

Zabini let out a _pff_ of disbelief, rolling his eyes. "Too late for that."

Draco narrowed his eyes, clenching his jaw. "I don't need this right now, especially from you." He grabbed his bookbag violently. "See you later."

Stalking from the room, ignoring the glares he got from Pansy and the other three while he did so, Draco made his way towards his next class. He had Transfiguration first thing Tuesday mornings, so he made his way towards the room of his Animagus professor reluctantly.

His stomach growled pleadingly at him and it was only then that he realized he hadn't grabbed a single thing to eat.

 _I really wish I still had that bagel,_ Draco thought regretfully. _I'd kill for something to eat right now._

He groaned as he turned and saw the two biggest idiots in the school. _Speaking of killing, I wouldn't mind finding these two dead._

Potter and Weaselby stood in front of McGonagall's room, waiting for class to begin as well. They seemed to be in deep conversation, not having noticed the arrival of their greatest enemy.

 _Hmm…should I torment them or not…eh, why not? I've got time to waste._

"Hey, Potter!" he called, a smirk on his pale face.

The black-haired Gryffindor turned at the sound of his surname, his green eyes immediately narrowing in hatred. His pathetic weasel of a sidekick turned too, letting out a sigh of exasperation.

"Malfoy," Potter scowled. "What do you want?"

"Oooo, _not_ so friendly, are we?" Draco spat. "Bad mood? What happened, did your mummy forget to give you a kiss before sending you off to school?" He scoffed. "Oh, that's right. She never _was_ able to give you one, was she?"

Potter took a step towards him. "At least my parents were there for me when they were alive. Tell me, Malfoy, where's your father now?"

Draco felt his face go red in anger. "Don't you _dare_ say a word against my father! He's only in Azkaban because _you_ had to go and play hero as you always do! And you don't even know what you're doing!"

Weasel took a step forward to stand next to Pothead. "I think it's safe to say Harry _does_ know what he's doing. That's why that Death Eater you call a father is locked up right now!"

Draco took a step forward. "My father is on the right side, Weasel. Better to be imprisoned for it than to run free like you with your ignorant, walnut sized brain and backwards views."

Potter laughed coldly. "The 'right side'? Who do you think you're kidding, Malfoy? You think Voldemort's side is the right one? How stupid could you be?"

Draco's hand went to his robe pocket, drawing his wand in the same moment that Potter and Weasel drew theirs. There they stood, two on one, pointing their weapons at the other side accusingly. Behind him, Draco heard the sound of students' shoes and voices getting louder as they went to their classes. Soon, they'd no longer be alone.

"How stupid could _I_ be?" he drawled, smirking as his eyebrows shot up. " _Me?_ That's _thick_ coming from you! At least I don't need a walking book to follow me around and spew out answers whenever I need them!"

Weaselby's face contorted in rage. "If you're talking about Her—"

"Oh, why don't you call her by her real name?" Draco laughed. The sound of gasps and many pairs of running feet behind him told him that an audience was drawing closer. "It's mudblood, you pathetic excuses for wizards! And the fact that she's smarter than the both of you combined is more shameful than imaginable!"

Weasel took another hurried step forward, but Pothead grabbed his shoulder quickly. The redhead's face was red in fury, and he tried to shove his friend away.

"Smart move, Scarhead. Saved your idiot friend from a mistake," Draco scowled.

"Don't you say those things about Hermione!" Ron yelled. At this point, the group of three was surrounded by a large group of students, all eager to see the fight as it progressed. Not a teacher was in sight, all still undoubtedly eating in the Great Hall.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, feigning confusion. "Who are you talking about? Oh, _ohhhh…_ you mean mudblood. Well, thank you for your opinion on the matter, blood traitor, but I'll say what I like about the filthy muggle and nothing you can say will change it!"

In a flash, the Weasel sent a spell flying at Draco. The blonde was able to deflect it in the nick of time, sending back his own curses as the duel began.

The audience of students gasped and shuffled backwards, giving the students more room to fight. Potter stood beside Weasel, each sending spells flying in unison. Draco was on the defensive, working very hard not to get hit by any stray _stupefy's_ or _expelliarmus's._ However, he did let lose a few of his own offensive spells.

" _Locomotor Mortis!"_ he shot, missing Potter by a hair. He smirked as he continued to block their spells, poking fun at them at the same time. "You know, I'm surprised the mudblood hasn't shown up to save your sorry asses yet. _Protego!"_ the shield popped up between them, giving Draco a moment to catch his breath. "It's a wonder you two are even still alive without her! Then again, she couldn't possibly be the reason you're still breathing after all these years. She's worthless, the filthy mudblood."

He knew he'd finally caused the redhead to crack. Forgetting that there was a shield between them, Weasel yelled " _Stupefy!"_ and the spell shot from his wand, heading towards Draco. But it rebounded off of the invisible shield, instead ramming directly into the chest of his best friend, causing Potter to fall to the ground, completely stunned.

Weaselby let out a shocked yowl, turning to his friend. "Harry! Harry, I'm so sorry!"

Draco smirked, removing the shield and pointing his wand at the Gryffindor sixth year. " _Incarcerous!"_ he yelled, watching as ropes appeared from thin air, binding the boy tightly. Draco stood over the pair proudly, pointing his wand at the two. He opened his mouth to say yet another spell, but he was stopped before a syllable could be uttered.

 _"Expelliarmus!"_

Draco's wand flew from his hand, flying behind him and into the outreached arm of his attacker. Scowling, he turned to see the insufferable mudblood, anger lighting her face. His silver eyes were immediately drawn to her leg, and he saw with both a feeling of surprise and smugness that bruises dotted it where he'd dug his heel into her skin. He wondered briefly why she hadn't removed them with a spell, but he didn't care enough to give it a second thought.

She lowered her wand arm, running past Draco as she reached her friends. She knelt by their sides, releasing Weaselby from his ropes and muttering _"Rennervate"_ to bring Potter back to the conscious world.

The whole situation would have been quite amusing to Draco had the mudblood not been holding his wand. The feeling of victory that he'd felt from winning the duel over the two idiots was slightly dampened by his embarrassment of being disarmed by the frizzy haired know-it-all.

"Well, this has been fun," he drawled in a bored, monotone voice. "But I require my wand now."

The mudblood stood, fury radiating off of her. She stomped up to him, the two almost nose to nose.

"That," she started, her voice in a low, dangerous whisper. "was _completely_ uncalled for! I should go to Professor Dumbledore this instant and have you punished!"

Draco smirked down at her. "But you won't."

"And why not?"

His eyes narrowed. "I can still hurt you. Besides, if you ratted me out, you'd have to rat out Scarhead and Weaselbrains over there. And after your little fight with them, getting them into trouble would surely do no good for your pathetic excuse for a friendship."

Seeing that he'd backed her into quite the predicament, he smirked one last time, grabbed his wand from her hand, and marched away, shooting glares at the crowd around him. "Shouldn't you all be somewhere? What, have you got nothing better to do?"

The crowd dispersed quickly after that, grumbling about his attitude while still chattering excitedly about the drama that had just unfolded before their eyes. And Draco, as if nothing had happened, went to stand by the door to Transfigurations, a bored expression on his face.

. . . ….. . . .

"Really, Malfoy, you've got to tell me. If not Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson, then at least me!"

Draco and Zabini sat in the otherwise deserted Slytherin common room, each slowly getting more irritated at the other's inability to understand their side. A fire crackled by the portrait hole as always, their only company.

"I've told you the whole story, Zabini," Draco snapped. "I was just tired, that's it. I had a bad dream and couldn't get back to sleep."

Zabini's eyes narrowed. "What, so this has nothing to do with the mission you were telling us about on the train ride over?"

Draco inwardly groaned. He'd completely forgotten that that scene had taken place. Though it must have technically only been about two days ago, it felt like years to Draco because of his recent "time travel." If you could call it that.

"Yes," he said stiffly. "It has nothing to do with that. I'd tell you if it did."

Zabini narrowed his eyes. "You're lying. You won't even tell me what your mission is in the first place, and you expect me to believe that you'd tell me about anything that has to do with it now?"

"That's because it's _my_ business! I don't need to tell you!" Draco's temper was rising fast, and he stood from his chair to face his former friend.

"Well, I could help you!" Zabini shouted. "If you told me, we could work together on this."

"Pff, as if you'd be anything but a hindrance! There's no way that I'd share the glory with this, Zabini, so get that through your thick skull and maybe you'll be able to begin to understand!"

The truth was that Draco could never tell anyone about him needing to kill Dumbledore simply because he wasn't sure if he was even going to attempt it this time through. And if he told someone about it and later decided to not do it, it would look to them like he'd wimped out.

"Oh, that's it, is it?" Zabini growled. "Glory? I shouldn't have expected any more from you, Malfoy. _Of course._ You're trying to restore your precious family name and in doing so, there's no room for your friends." He walked up to Malfoy, jamming a finger into his chest. "Well if that's how it is, then we'll leave you be. All of us. Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, and I; don't even think to come talking to any of us anymore."

"Ha! You think they'll listen to you?" Draco laughed. "I'm the leader of this group. They look to _me_ for guidance, not you! You really expect them to follow someone like yourself?"

Zabini smirked. "Oh, they'll be much easier to persuade than you'd expect. We've all known how short your temper usually is, Malfoy, but it's been incredibly quick to explode for the past two days. Even the other three have noticed it and they're slightly off put at it. Crabbe and Goyle will listen to anyone who seems like a strong leader who knows what they're doing, and Pansy, well,"—Zabini chuckled lowly at that—"we all know what she wants and I think I can give it to her just as well, if not _better,_ than you can. Face it, Malfoy, they're mine now."

Draco felt the blood rush from his face. _He's right. Damnit, he's right._

"You're wrong," he said anyways, though he was sure his uncertainty was plainly seen on his face. "They'll stay with me."

Zabini smiled coldly, walking towards his dorm as he did so. "We both know you're lying, Malfoy. Besides, this is what you want, isn't it? No friends to have to share the glory with. Well, you're getting your wish."

With that, he disappeared up the steps, leaving Draco to slump into an armchair in despair.

 _I have no one,_ he thought desolately. _What am I going to do?_

So far, this second chance was shaping up to be worse than the first one.

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 **2529 words. Longest one yet!**

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	7. Fire

**OMG is it sad that I really love this chapter? Because I do and it's kind of sad XD**

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Hermione sat in Potions class, doing her very best to avert her eyes from the boy sitting next to her. It was several weeks after she had seen Malfoy dueling with Harry and Ron and things between the two Potions partners had gotten no better. He still sat next to her, as useless as a bump on a log, only moving or talking when he felt like humiliating her.

The thing that really infuriated Hermione, though, was the fact that he had been right when he said she wouldn't tell the headmaster about the incident in the halls. She wished desperately that he would get the punishment he deserved, but if pulling Harry, Ron, and therefore her house down with him was the consequence, then the prefect had to admit that it just wasn't worth it.

And the fact made her quite peeved off, not only at Malfoy for bending the rules, for finding a loophole, but at herself for giving in so easily. She was a prefect, for God's sake! She wasn't supposed to act out of her own self benefit! She was supposed to hand out punishments to any and all who deserved them, no matter who they were and what they meant to her.

Besides, she knew that had the three dueling students been anyone else, she would've sent them to detention before they could say "they started it!"

Setting aside her angry thoughts, Hermione decided to try to focus on her current potion instead. Professor Slughorn had instructed them to make Amortentia, the most powerful love potion in the world. So there she sat, adding a drop of this and a pinch of that, but she found her mind wandering all the same.

And perhaps it was the scents of him that wafted their way into her nose, but Hermione couldn't help thinking about a certain redheaded boy. Ronald Weasley had been her best friend, along with Harry, of course, for the past five years, and recently she'd begun to find him quite a bit more attractive. Maybe it was the brightness of his hair, or his goofy little grin, but she just couldn't get him out of her head.

And the damn potion that sat bubbling on the table in front of her was doing her no help in keeping him from her mind.

Yes, she was still confused about what she thought about Harry and Ron as far as how they were perceived by others and whether or not they really were the "good" guys after all, but those ideas didn't have to get in the way of her feelings for Ron. Whether or not he was what a protagonist usually consisted of had nothing to do with the matter because either way, she still liked him.

She shot him a quick look, and was embarrassed to catch his eye almost immediately. Simultaneously, they both looked away, faces turning red.

Hermione and Ron, and Harry, too, had made up immediately after their feud with Malfoy. Hermione had apologized, the very thing she hadn't wanted to do in the situation, but she decided to set aside her pride as she usually did and put the past behind them. Harry and Ron had apologized, too, telling her that they shouldn't have gotten so short with her so quickly, and the three's friendship had been restored.

So here they were, weeks later, better than ever.

And as she sat in Potions, smelling the Amortentia, she couldn't help but wonder what Ron smelled and hoping that it was of her perfume and favorite quill.

 _Oh, stop being silly, Hermione,_ she thought to herself. _Now isn't the time to think about him! You have better things to do with your time than obsess over a boy, after all._

But maybe, just maybe, she wanted to be like a normal teenage girl for once and let herself have a crush, dare she say it.

And maybe it was the fumes getting to her head, but she had a feeling that maybe he felt the same for her, in the way she felt for him.

And the thought made her happy.

But now wasn't the time to think about that. She shook her head slightly, looking back to the potion that she wished so desperately that she could use.

. . . ….. . . .

Draco sat next to the mudblood, throwing a bit of herbs into his potion emotionlessly. He watched with a blank expression as they melted into the liquid, turning a dark pink. A light red smoke drifted up from the concoction, and Draco was surprised to smell what he did:

Nothing.

He groaned inwardly, rolling his eyes and sighing. Awesome. His life had become so humiliatingly lonely and painful that he was no longer attracted to anyone or anything. He just didn't care about anything anymore, and this God-awful potion proved it to him.

For in the few weeks since Zabini had ditched him, his life had become what he'd expected it to turn into: a pathetically isolated asylum of self-hate and turmoil.

Because he found that he _did_ dislike himself in some circumstances. He hated himself for letting the only "friends" he had ever had go so easily, without even trying to keep them. Zabini had been right when he'd told Draco that Crabbe and Goyle would side with him and ditch the blonde. And Parkinson…she had simple needs, which could be dealt with simply and quickly. Not to mention that Zabini wasn't a bad looking guy, and Parkinson would settle for him any day.

Before, maybe, he hadn't been quite as devilishly handsome as Draco was, but things had definitely changed in his favor recently. Draco's newfound dislike of himself had led to his lack of eating and social contact. He much preferred to stay inside, holed up in his bed, than going outside or even moving enough to go to the Great Hall for a quick bite. Since there was no longer anyone to sit with, why go at all? He'd just look like an antisocial outsider sitting by himself at the end of the long table.

Of course he did eat _sometimes,_ but usually just enough to get him through the day. A quick bite at breakfast or dinner would suffice, then he'd be off to his dorm or his next class.

Still, he was Draco Malfoy, so his self-loathing didn't venture past about that level. He hated that he had let his friends go and that had resulted in some health problems, but aside from that, he was still the same proud, smart, and stubborn boy. He would never admit to anyone how broken he would sometimes feel, for that was a weakness, and Malfoys _never_ showed weakness.

 _And,_ he consoled himself, _it's not like any changes with me have been_ that _noticeable. Sure, I've lost a few pounds, but it's not like anyone pays enough attention to me, anyways. I'm still the same person._

He sighed quietly as he stirred his potion, watching it turn a dark red. He couldn't help but feel sad, of course, that he no longer had anyone to talk to, but he'd get over it. He always did.

 _Who needs them, anyways? It's not like they ever contributed much. All they ever did was do what I told them, and I could have always done those things_ myself. _I don't need them. I've never needed them._

He blinked in surprise at the thought. Yeah. Yeah, he was right! He didn't need the blundering buffoons! They'd never done anything that he couldn't have managed on his own. In fact, he was starting to wonder why he'd kept them around at all in the first place.

 _Good for nothing fools,_ he thought, smirking. _I'll show them. I don't need anyone._

He'd show them all right. He'd show them all. He needed absolutely no one. He was self-dependent, after all, and he would no longer allow this self-pity to rule over his life. He resolved in that moment to walk with his head held high and no longer hide from the world.

He was Draco Malfoy. Anyone who dared to cross his path who had the temerity to even think anything low of him would be sorry.

Smirking, he looked up from his potion to see the mudblood, her face screwed up in concentration as she watched the simmering pot beneath her frizzy brown hair. Her brown eyes were intense beneath her frown of concentration and she bit her bottom lip as she watched the cauldron.

Wow, he hated her. She was such a teachers' pet, such a know-it-all. A goody two shoes, a wimpy little school girl. She didn't deserve the honor of sitting next to him, _him,_ in any of her classes for any reason whatsoever.

 _Well, then?_ he questioned himself. _What are you going to do about the filthy little mudblood?_

Smirking, he raised his wand beneath the table, pointing it at her robes. Smiling slightly, he whispered, " _Incendio_."

The words were hardly hearable, but they had the desired effect. Instantly, flames sprung from his wand and jumped to her black robes, growing larger by the second.

It took the mudblood several moments before she even noticed that anything at all was wrong. Obviously feeling the heat, though, she eventually looked down and immediately let out a shriek of shock, springing back from the table, knocking her chair over in the process. She batted at the fire, forgetting of her wand in her desperation. Her attempts were entirely fruitless, however, and the flames only grew, eventually encasing her as she screamed in pain and fear.

By now, the entire class's attention was on her. Everyone was out of their seats, mouths agape and gasps filling the room. It seemed as if everyone was paralyzed, too confused and surprised to do anything.

"Please!" the mudblood screeched as she fell to the floor, trying to claw her way to her table and wand. The fire swept over her chest, close to catching her hair in its clutches. Her terrified eyes shot up and instantly connected with Draco's, the person closest to her. "Help me!"

But he just laughed, trying his hardest not to double over from the humor of it all. This was the funniest thing he'd seen in weeks! How could she possibly think that he'd stop the entertainment?

" _AQUAMENTI!"_ the voice screamed, terror making the words unnaturally loud. Water spurted from the person's wand and drenched the mudblood, putting out the flames. She gasped in relief, falling entirely back to the ground, shaking with sobs and gasps of agony. A few wisps of smoke floated in the air around her, highlighting the bursts of red, burnt skin.

The Weasel and Pothead rushed to her side instantly, the latter stashing his wand back into his pocket after he'd extinguished the flames. As he tried to talk to her, the redhead turned to Draco, eyes as lit with anger as the fire had just been with Draco's entertainment.

"What the bloody hell?!" he yelled. "How could you? _How could you?!_ Are you really so heartless to just stand there and watch her burn?"

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. "The bloody idiot shouldn't have gotten herself on fire. That's not my fault."

"Yeah, and I bet you set her on fire, didn't you?! 'Cauldron fire' my ass!"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "How dare you accuse me of—?"

"Oh, _please!"_ Weasel shouted. "As if it's so far-fetched for you to have done this to her! It's no wonder you haven't any friends, Malfoy, no one likes you! And you think it's because you're so high and mighty! Well why don't you get your head out of your ass and realize that you repel people! No one wants to be friends with such a selfish, stuck up, arrogant git like yourself!"

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off as Slughorn intervened. He directed Potter and Weaselby to take the burnt mudblood to the hospital, and they quickly obliged. He then dismissed the rest of the class, saying he had to report this to the headmaster.

As he hurried from the classroom, fuming as he left quickly so that he couldn't be called back by the somewhat oblivious teacher, Draco couldn't help but swallow his rising sense of guilt. The scene that had just played out had been hilarious, he couldn't deny that…

But was it _too_ low? Even for him?

He shook his head, scoffing. No, no way. The mudblood deserved it. She was a snobbish Gryffindor, she deserved anything that came her way.

But what if the Weasel was right? That he really was all of those things…

No. No, he couldn't be. He wasn't heartless. He just really hated the mudblood.

Yet he couldn't keep one thought from his head as he walked to the Slytherin common room and shut himself in his dorm: most people didn't light others on fire just for entertainment, even if they were their enemy.

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 **2175 words. Nice XD**

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	8. Left Alone

**You guys, I have the next five chapters written and let me say it gets better soon. Trust me.**

 **Enjoy this chapter! It was SOOO much fun to write...MWUAHAHAHAHAHA! ;)**

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The scene in his line of vision was divided perfectly in half. There was no actual line to divide it, to differentiate between the left and the right, but it was obvious to any who saw it that there were two halves in the picture.

For now, all that Draco could see was the left side. He tried to identify the events occurring in the right half, but it was impossible to discern. So, clearly knowing what he was supposed to be paying attention to, the Slytherin boy turned to the left.

He instantly wished that he could stare at whatever was happening on the other side. For on the left, he saw his past—or rather his future—actions. He saw himself, standing shakily as he pointed his wand at Dumbledore. There was Snape, stepping in and killing the man for him. Then he was running from the scene, shaken by what he'd just witnessed but trying to look strong in the face of the ground shaking event. They were on the grounds of Hogwarts, Hagrid's Hut burning in the background, as Snape turned to face Potter, who came running from the school, screaming and yelling for Snape's head.

Then the scene changed, to show what would have happened. Draco kneeled at the Dark Lord's feet, begging, _pleading_ for the mercy that he knew wouldn't come, for the mercy that had never come for anyone who had found themselves at He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's feet. There was a cruel, shrill laugh, a pointed wand, and then excruciating pain. It was his past nightmare relived, every agonizing detail terrifyingly identical.

And, like before, the pain stopped. There was a green light again, but this time, instead of a mystery person lying with no life left in them, Draco was the dead body at the Dark Lord's feet. His grey eyes were wide and soulless, his cheeks still streaked with the tears of his failure. His crumpled body on the floor looked so weak, so desperate, so hopeless. He'd been killed for not carrying out his task, and had been, in You-Know-Who's eyes, at least, a complete disappointment and waste of time.

For now, he was just a dead body.

And then the scene switched again. It completely stopped, the events freezing as if a pause button on life had been pushed. Confused and shaken, Draco looked around, noticing that when the left side had stopped, the right side had begun to become visible.

Turning, wary about what he was about to see, he looked to the other half. It was still quite hard to see what was happening, for the picture seemed to be covered in fog. Squinting his eyes, however, Draco was able to place what he was looking at.

He was lying in the hospital wing, on a bed. Above him sat a person, but their identity was impossible to see. He tried with all of his might to tell who it was, but he couldn't for the life of him figure it out. Their entire outline was covered in an odd sort of mist, only allowing Draco to understand that they were a person, probably no older than him by the size of them, maybe even a little younger, for they were smaller than he.

Before he could further his progress of identifying the form, they stood up stiffly, emanating anger and frustration. They stormed from the hospital, not even giving Draco a backwards glance. The teenager tried calling them back, but his voice wouldn't work and he watched as their retreating body left the wing.

As soon as their form passed through the doors, the whole picture froze like it had before, and both halves of the picture dissolved into black. The only thing left was a booming voice, the voice of the headmaster, reverberating in Draco's head.

"You have a choice to make, Draco. Choose wisely."

And his voice continued to ring in his head as the boy awoke in his bed, light streaming through the windows of his Slytherin dorm room.

. . . ….. . . .

Draco sat in the Great Hall, away from the rest of his house. Though he was inwardly lonely and feeling maybe even a little depressed, he would never show it on the outside. Instead, he sat with his head high, glaring at anyone who caught his eye.

It was about halfway until Christmas break, just one week after the fire incident in Potions. That morning had been insanely heated as Draco had sat next to the mudblood. Her fury at him was radiating off of her, enough for anyone to see just how enraged she was. She wouldn't look at him, talk to him, acknowledge his presence, or have anything to do with him.

Not that this bothered him, of course. He much preferred it this way, to be entirely honest. He hated her guts, as she did with his, and they both seemed content to keep things the way they were.

Besides, he much preferred their angry silence to before, when they'd insulted each other incessantly. Yes, it had entertained him to see her spluttering so pathetically whenever he threw a good retort her way, but silence was the sweetest song to his ear when it meant a lack of her noise.

After she'd caught on fire, she was rushed to the hospital wing by the other idiot members of her friend group. She'd been found to have several major burns in different places on her weak body, but the majority of the harm caused to her were minor burns. Needless to say, she'd been cured and was out of the wing by that Wednesday morning.

Of course, news of her injuries had spread throughout the school like the fire had spread through her robes: quickly and without anyone being able to ignore it. Along with the fact that she'd been a human torch, there was speculation that he had been the one to cause it.

Which, of course, was true.

But he couldn't go letting everyone thinking that. If he did, everyone would hate him even more than they already did, except for possibly the Slytherins, and he'd never hear the end of it. So he tried to put the rumors to rest by saying that he'd seen the fire from her cauldron light her sleeve, but, naturally, nobody believed him.

This was due mainly to the Weasel. He had been furious at Draco for lighting the mudblood on fire and had made sure that anyone and everyone knew about his suspicions of the blonde Slytherin. By the time that Draco found out about everyone's accusations of him, it was too late to let his defense even be heard by many willing ears and he'd been found guilty quite quickly.

So, as he'd predicted, he was hated even more than before. He couldn't walk through the halls of Hogwarts without being glared at several times by students from every house, even Slytherin. For Zabini, who had made it his mission in life to humiliate Draco, had backed up the Weasel's statement, showing that his newfound hatred for Draco was so powerful that he was even willing to agree with a big-headed Gryffindor to drag him down.

So he was now officially the most hated person in school.

The mudblood, on the other hand, had been sympathized with quite profusely, if not because she was loved, then because the person who had supposedly done her harm was hated with a passion by all. She was constantly seen with friends around her, many usually comforting her because of the after effects of being a column of fire.

 _Friends,_ Draco thought, grimacing as he did so. _As if she had any_ real _friends. No one will ever really like her. She'll be alone, just watch._

Yet he couldn't help envying her slightly. She had people who would talk to her, who would listen to her. Who did Draco have?

No one.

Not anymore, at least.

But he shook his head, banishing these thoughts from his head. How could he _ever_ envy a mudblood such as herself? He didn't need friends; he was strong enough to get along fine on his own. _She_ was the weak one, and she was weak because she needed to rely on other people. _That_ was a true sign of weakness. Dependence of others.

So through all of this, did he regret setting the girl on fire?

No.

At least that's what he told himself, because deep inside, he might have felt the tiniest bit of guilt. But he was a Malfoy, of course, and Malfoys stuck by their decisions. So he was to stick by his opinion that what he had done was in no way wrong.

Draco sniffed in irritation as he twirled his fork in his bowl, his annoyance growing as the spaghetti refused to just work with him and not be difficult. The sounds of the other Slytherins drifted to his ears from across the table, and he pushed away his sadness. He'd already gone over this with himself. He didn't need anyone.

He was surprised, however, to look up from his bowl and see none other than Zabini as he sat down across from him, arms folded and eyes narrowed. He looked intimidating, sure of himself, as though he could do no wrong.

"Zabini," Draco greeted coldly, finally shoving a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth.

"Malfoy," the other boy replied, his voice just as icy. "Nice to see you still sitting alone after all of these weeks."

"Better than having you for company."

The dark skinned boy scowled, and shook his head. "That's not why I came over here, to be ridiculed."

"Then to what do I owe the _pleasure_ of your company?"

"I came to tell you that I'll give you another shot."

The words made Malfoy blink in surprise. _Another chance...hmmm, that sounds familiar. Oh the coincidence of it all._

"Meaning?" Malfoy asked, one eyebrow raised as he looked down at his food, pretending to be intrigued by his pasta.

"The others and I have talked," Zabini stated, nodding at Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson, who all sat a little down the table, deep in conversation. "And we agreed to give you another shot. If you'd like, and if you'll stop being such an ass to everyone, we'll let you back in. But only if you agree to tell us what your mission is. Besides," he chuckled. "you look right pathetic now. Always moping about, hiding from everyone. It's like you've given up. It's a shame, really."

This infuriated Draco. He could sit here and listen to the other boy beg for him to come back all day, but the moment he started to demean him was when he had had enough.

Draco slammed a fist down onto the table, fire in his eyes as he took in Zabini's shocked face. "A shame? Really? _I'm_ the shameful one? At least I've been strong enough on my own to not have to come crawling back to you and your slimy lot."

Zabini's eyes narrowed, flicking over to the rest of the table, who's attention had been grabbed by the angry blonde. "Malfoy, I'm warning you—"

"To what?" Draco interrupted. "Not lose my temper? Not yell at you? What are you going to do about it anyways, huh? Nothing, that's obvious, so I think I'll do whatever I please! And you can't tell me not to!"

Zabini pointed a finger at him. "Don't you talk to me like that, you filth. You think _I_ wanted to ask you to come back? I was taking pity on your sorry ass! Anyone with eyes can see how pitiful you've become and when I try to help you out, you bite my head off. A fat load of good it's done me to be nice to you."

Malfoy scoffed. "I never asked for your pity. And I'd sooner be alone than stoop to the level of wanting your presence. So sorry, but I decline the offer. Sorry to disappoint you."

He went back to twirling his fork through his spaghetti, but Zabini clearly wasn't done, He leaned forward, roughly pushing Draco's bowl away from him. His angry eyes pierced into Draco's, full of utter loathing.

"You," he said lowly, so that the rest of the table couldn't hear him, "have made a mistake. I gave you a chance, and you threw it in my face like the stuck-up narcissist that you are. We didn't have to be enemies, but since you clearly would like it no other way, then so be it."

Draco rolled his eyes, smirking. "Oh, is little Zabini trying to threaten me? Make me feel afraid in the presence of the all-powerful Blaise?" he drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Zabini smiled, coldly and unforgivingly. "Oh, it's not a threat. It's a promise." He stood up from the table, eyes narrowing as they refused to break eye contact. "You'd better watch your back, Malfoy."

And he strode away, back to the three of his friends who were waiting for him with bated breath.

. . . ….. . . .

Later that night, Draco found himself walking down a deserted corridor, returning to his dorm after working on a Defense Against the Dark Arts essay in the library. It was supposed to fill up two entire feet of parchment paper, but Draco had decided that he didn't care enough to try to fill in the last three inches, so he'd packed up his stuff and left.

At this point in the year, with the second highest grades in all of his classes (the mudblood was to thank for that), he figured that not entirely completing one essay was not going to drop his grade dramatically. And anyways, he was exhausted; checking his watch, he saw that it was almost eleven o'clock, far after curfew.

Sighing as he thought about how tired he'd be the next day as well, Draco turned a corner of the school, only to be hit square in the chest with a body binding curse. Instantly, his arms and legs snapped together and he toppled over, falling flat on his face.

He knew who it was who had cursed him the moment he'd fallen. As he was dragged away by the boy, Draco's rage only heightened, filling him up so much that he feared he might explode.

Only after he was rammed into a small closet was his attacker's face finally shown to him, confirming Draco's previous assumption. There stood Blaise Zabini, eyes full of loathing and malice for the unmoving boy before him. He shoved him into a corner, doing so without even the slightest bit of care.

He smirked as he saw the struggle in Draco's eyes, the only parts of him still able to move. "I told you to watch your back, Malfoy. I gave you a chance. You can't say that I didn't warn you."

He slapped him hard in the face, laughing as he saw the frustration in the boy's eyes. "You really are pathetic, aren't you? You've fallen from grace just like your worthless father. It must be hereditary. Or maybe the whole lot of you just have a natural predisposition to make fools of yourselves."

Zabini stepped closer, pressing his wand to Malfoy's neck, voice suddenly much lower and more dangerous than before. "I'm warning you, you filth. Try anything funny with me and I won't hesitate to hex you so badly that you'll wish you were dead. I'm more capable than you'd think. Much more capable than you, anyways.

"Oh," he added. "And if you _ever_ tell anyone what I've done, I'll make sure you won't get away with all of your limbs. Are you willing to take the chance that I'm bluffing?"

Zabini smirked, stepping back. "Well, I suppose I could give you a taste of what's in store."

With a flick, the body-bind was lifted and Draco could move again. But before he could draw his own weapon or even guess of what was about to happen, Zabini's wand slashed through the air several times, causing Draco to drop to his knees with a gasp.

Holding a shaky hand up to his neck, he was horrified to find blood flowing freely between his fingers. It ran down the length of his arm, staining his white button up shirt with the color of his pain. A few drops of red fell from the bend of his elbow, splashing onto the floor as Draco himself fell over.

Zabini smiled above him, digging into the fallen boy's robes and finding his wand. "I'll just leave this…by the door, I think. If you can manage to get yourself that far, then I guess you'll be saved. If not… well, no one will miss you anyways."

Draco watched, shuddering and bleeding as he lay in the corner of the closet while Zabini walked to the door, dropping the blond's wand by it carelessly. He laughed mercilessly as he left, closing the door and locking it with a small click.

He lay there, a million miles away from the door and his wand. He twitched agonizingly, whimpering and groaning in pain. Tears cascaded down his cheeks, mixing with his own blood as it rained freely upon the floor. His neck throbbed in pain as it gushed out wave upon wave of red liquid, unceasing and infinite.

Draco knew he had to get to the door, had to move himself if he wanted to have any chance of surviving such a wound. But he was so tired and his energy was draining by the second. He just…he only needed…just needed to rest….

So, screaming at himself to wake up as he did so, Draco Malfoy dropped into a haunted and agonizing unconsciousness.

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 **2977 words. They're getting longer!**

 **And was I right or was I right when I said this chapter is fun? Horrible, but fun...**

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	9. Saved

**Here's the next chapter! PLEASE review, guys!**

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It was a miracle of gargantuan proportions that Draco managed to pull himself from unconsciousness. Given, it was an immense amount of work on his part, for he was tired and wanted to sleep. But the tiny sliver of his mind that was still logical and not aching from the pain in his neck was able to convince the rest of him that survival was crucial.

 _Not like this,_ it told him. _I'm not dying alone in a closet. And after getting a second chance, too. No, I need to get up…get up!_

And his mind pulled itself from the blissful sleep it had slipped into. Being conscious had its draw backs, of course, as Draco was now painstakingly aware of every single one of his nerves that were crying out to him in agony.

He had no idea what time it was and frankly didn't care enough to check the watch that he was wearing. He had one thought on his mind and one thought alone: survival.

Whimpering, tears streaming down his unnaturally pale face, Draco dragged himself forward, sliding slightly in the pool of his own blood. His neck yelled at him to stop what he was doing, to just lie still and accept his fate. He clearly wasn't meant to live to the end of the school year, why fight it? Besides, it was so much simpler, so much easier to stay down and have the life drain from him numbingly.

Though the throbbing in his neck spoke to the boy temptingly, he knew he had to go on. He wanted to live, even if he _was_ alone and hated.

Draco let out a grunt of pain as the hand that was currently pulling him towards the door of the closet slipped on his blood, bringing his arm sliding across the floor and therefore slamming his head into the hard stone floor as his body jolted sideways. His breathing shuddered as he felt a bump swell on his temple and blood began to seep from the cut, only adding to the loss of fluids he was currently going through.

But he couldn't give up. He was halfway there now, and though he left a trail of blood behind him, he knew he was close to being rescued. He couldn't let himself die in such a pitiful way, and he refused to stop now. He had to get out.

The front of his body now drenched in his own blood, Draco finally reached his wand. With the most strength he could manage to muster, he pointed his wand at the door, croaking out, " _Alohomora,"_ and was close to tears of relief when he heard the telltale click that meant the door was unlocked.

Slowly, for moving quickly caused too much pain to shoot through his body, Draco reached up to the handle with shaking limbs. It was as if he could no longer control himself; his hand was inches away, but it seemed unable to move any closer.

 _Please,_ he pleaded with himself. _Please just grab the handle. You're so close,_ so _close, just open the door…._

And finally, his long fingers grasping for the door and turning the handle, the wooden barrier creaked open, flooding the closet with moonlight.

Draco collapsed as the fresh air washed over him, the top half of his body the only visible part of him. He lay gasping on the floor, vision going darker by the second. The wound on his neck was soon to replenish the pool of blood that had been around him, dripping onto the floor and staining his blond hair crimson as he lay helplessly.

He knew he couldn't make it to the hospital wing. It was too far away and he barely had the strength to drag himself ten feet. His only chance was of someone finding him, and the chances of that were close to zero. It had to have been going on two in the morning, after all.

So Draco lay, his tears finally coming silently. There was nothing left for him to do but lay sprawled on the ground, tears and blood falling. He was gone for, and despite Dumbledore's promise of a longer life, he was going to die anyways.

There was a single thing left that he could do, and his pride almost got in the way. Mustering the last of his energy as his vision darkened still, he parted his mouth, lungs grasping desperately for air.

"Please," he whimpered out, his voice filling the deserted and previously silent corridor. "…p-please…help…help…."

He thought he was imagining it at first, the sound of footsteps running down a passing hallway, but as they grew louder he knew that he had a chance. Someone had heard him, was coming to help him. He would live.

But as the person turned the corner, gasped, and ran to him, Draco almost wished that he would be left to die. Of _course_ it was her. Of _course_ she had to be the one to find him, the girl who he loathed with his whole heart. Oh, how he hated to look so vulnerable and weak in front of her.

She'd laugh at him, kick him, tell him that it was payback for when he'd lit her on fire and just watched with a grin on his face. She despised him too, there was no doubt about it, and she'd sooner claw her own eyeballs out before she helped him.

Or at least that's what Draco thought. After all, if their positions were reversed, had she been the one lying nearly dead on the floor, he undoubtedly wouldn't have helped her, especially not if she'd set him on fire just the week before.

But Draco was surprised to see panic on her face as his eyes finally focused. Her brown orbs were wide and scared, shock hanging over them. Her mouth fell open as she took in his condition, but no words came out for quite some time.

"Oh God." She finally spoke, her voice shaking as she did so, along with her hands. "I've got to get you to the hospital wing!"

Draco's pride _did_ get in the way this time, despite his mind screaming at him to stop being such an idiot and just accept her help. "No," he spluttered, grey eyes attempting to hold a look of independence and superiority in them. "No, I don't need…your…your help, you mudblood."

"Oh, for the love of—" She cut herself off, though anger crossed her face. "Set aside your ego, Malfoy!"

"I…" he spoke, voice getting weaker by the word. "I can…I can get there…by…by myself…."

But not even he believed himself anymore as his body splayed to the floor. His grey eyes, which saw only fog now, closed. The last thing they saw before they were overcome with black was the look of hysteria and determination on the mudblood's face.

. . . ….. . . .

Draco blinked open his eyes, not even fully processing the fact that he was still alive. It took several long moments for him to tell himself that he wasn't dead, that he was alive and…okay, not "well," but he was alive nonetheless.

It only took a moment longer to see that he was sitting in an empty hospital wing, no other beds being occupied. He was entirely alone in the large room except for Madam Pomfrey, who was making herself busy next to a cabinet of medicines.

Draco took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he drew a hand through his hair. The action made him flinch slightly; it seemed that even the slightest movement was enough to make his neck ache with pain, but he didn't really care at the moment. He was still shocked to see that he was breathing at all.

At the noise of his arm thumping back to the bedsheets as he let it fall, Madam Pomfrey turned, gasping as she saw that he was awake.

"Mr. Malfoy!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to him. "Thank goodness you're alright!"

His face instinctively set itself into a grimace as he looked at her and around himself. "What happened? How am I here?"

"You're here because someone up there is looking out for you," Madam Pomfrey said. "When you arrived here at three o'clock in the morning, I was sure you were done for. The amount of blood you lost…well, let me just say that most would have been long dead. You seem to have a certain determination to stay alive, Mr. Malfoy. You're extremely lucky.

"Of course, there were many healing spells I used on you that in no way hurt your chances. You needed some serious closing up and repairing of the wounds you acquired, that's for sure. You had a scratch at the temple, but that lash in your neck was a nasty one if I've ever seen one, though it was mostly just the size of it that shocked me. It was in no way cursed, so you'll be fine in a couple of days at most. Other than that, you just needed to get some potions into you that would help with the replacement of all the blood you lost and you should be back to normal very soon."

Draco blinked as he took all of this in. From what she said, he definitely was lucky to not be dead right about now, but something wasn't adding up to him. If his memory wasn't playing jokes on him, then there was reason for him to be even more confused than before.

"And what about who brought me here?" Draco asked, not sure that he wanted to know the answer. "Who found me?"

Madam Pomfrey opened her mouth to answer, but her eyes shot up to the door of the wing and she smiled. "Why, here she is right now. I'll get you some more potion from my office while you two talk."

Dreading to see who it was, Draco turned to see the bushy haired girl walk down the row of beds. She had her white button down shirt tucked into her skirt as was customary Hogwarts dress code and her black robes billowed out around her. Her head was high, allowing her Gryffindor tie to flutter slightly as she walked. Her bookbag was slung over her shoulder, weighed down by the surplus of textbooks that she was undoubtedly hauling about.

She turned as she reached Draco's bed, sitting by his pillow. He quickly averted his eyes, looking down at his hands, which had suddenly become the most interesting things in the world.

The mudblood sighed as she adjusted herself. "Good," she said stiffly, awkwardness clear in her voice. She felt out of place here, but she knew she had to visit. After all, she'd been the one to save him. "You're awake."

"What does it matter to you?" Draco snapped, eyes narrowing as they continued to assess his pale, clammy hands.

She rolled her eyes. "Jeez, Malfoy, it's nice to see you too." Her eyes, still frowning, looked him over. "How are you feeling?"

"I repeat," Draco hissed. "Why does it matter to you?"

She shrugged. "It doesn't, really. But I feel that _someone_ should check up on you at least once in a while."

"I don't need 'checking up on'."

The mudblood sighed again. "Whatever. That's besides the point. I thought you might want a visit—"

His scoff cut her off. "And you thought I'd appreciate a visit from _you_ of all people? What possessed you to think _that?_ "

She narrowed her eyes. "You didn't let me finish. I thought you might want a visit from anyone at all. Someone you loathe is better than no one at all, isn't it?"

Draco grimaced. "I'm not sure it is, actually." Muttered, agitated.

"Well, be glad I showed up at all!" she snapped, surprising him with the danger in her voice. "It's not like I _want_ to be here! Believe me, showing up is harder than it may seem!"

Draco was silent at that, swallowing his guilt. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he should be grateful that she was here in the first place. He looked even farther away, refusing to meet her gaze.

"How long have I been out?" he finally asked.

"It's Thursday afternoon," she sniffed, anger still present in her voice, though she was clearly trying to stifle it. "I found you early Tuesday morning while doing my rounds. You're lucky I procrastinated doing them"—she smiled slightly—"I was supposed to be done by one, but I was working on homework. Anyways, that's when I saw you."

He nodded, pride still hurt that she had been the one to find him. True, she'd saved his life, but would he thank her for it? No. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys never thanked good for nothing mudbloods.

"Well," he hissed shortly, "it's typical of you to have shirked your responsibilities for something as damn stupid as homework. All you ever do is have your nose crammed in a book. You need to get out more, mudblood."

She took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm her heightening rage. "Malfoy, given the circumstances, I see no reason for you to pointlessly insult me."

"And yet I shall," he snapped, finally meeting her eyes. "I don't care _what_ you did, I never asked for you to help me! I owe you nothing and I don't need your assistance! I never asked for a stupid little mudblood's help, and I'd never stoop low enough to need it."

She snapped. With a look of fire in her eyes, she stood instantly, glaring down at the Slytherin below her. She looked about ready to murder, more furious than Draco had ever seen her. It actually scared him.

"Malfoy, you selfish little git!" she yelled. "You can't even thank me for saving your life! I don't know why I took pity on you, especially after what you did to me in Potions! You're a self-centered, prideful, unthankful, horrible prat of a person who's too stubborn for his own good! I almost wish I left you to die! I know _you_ would have if you'd found me bleeding to death on the floor!"

With a furious look in his direction, she snatched her bookbag and stormed from the hospital, not bothering to look back at the boy behind her. He felt that he should call her back and say something, but his damned stubbornness wouldn't allow it.

An immense feeling of guilt filled Draco up, so much that his head fell back to his pillow and he groaned. Yes, he despised the girl, but in all fairness, she _had_ saved his life, and that did account for something. He should have apologized, even if it killed him to do so, for he did owe her something, despite what he'd told her.

He hated that he owed her something, of course, but nevertheless, he did. And not even he could overlook what he owed her.

His life.

Where would Draco be if she hadn't shown up to save him? He'd be dead for sure and it would have been hours before anyone would discover his body. Had she finished her rounds an hour before like she normally would have, he'd be long gone.

And what had he done in repayment for how she'd helped him?

He'd insulted her.

Draco groaned again. He had to apologize and thank her, he knew it. He in no way wanted to, but he had to. The sliver of common sense he had in this scenario won over the rest of him, telling him that no matter what her lineage was and what their history had been, he needed to set it aside for this one specific situation.

He'd do it on Monday in Potions.

He dreaded the arrival of the date.

Suddenly, something resurfaced in his mind: the dream he'd had several days before. Draco now realized that it was the scene that had just occurred with the mudblood, that _she'd_ been the one he saw in his dream.

The clarification of his nightmare of sorts did nothing to calm his thoughts. If _she_ had been the one he saw in his dream, if _she_ was the one he saw in the half of the picture that symbolized his second chance, then did that mean…?

 _Surely not,_ Draco told himself, chuckling slightly at how ridiculous it would be. _No way. It must just be a coincidence. Her? Never. Not in a million years._

Though his thoughts had been plagued with uncertainty before about what he should have said to her and what he should later tell her, he was set in his ways about this. He knew he was right, that it wasn't her, that it could never be her. That was just stupid and insane.

He was distracted from his thoughts as Madam Pomfrey made her way back to his bedside, frowning slightly as she handed him a potion to drink.

"Where's Miss Granger?" she questioned, an eyebrow rising as he drained the rancid tasting medicine.

"Oh," Draco managed. "She had studying to do, I think. Not sure, though. She left without much explanation."

Madam Pomfrey clearly didn't believe a syllable of his poorly worded excuse. "Mr. Malfoy, whether or not you acknowledge it, she _did_ save your life. I know you two don't exactly get along, but try to be grateful. You wouldn't be here if she hadn't been there for you.

"Besides," she added as she tended to the pillows behind his head, "she's the only visitor you've had. Not a single other person came to see you. Show some appreciation for once and set aside your rivalry, at least just enough to thank her. It was clear that she had to set it aside to even show up here at all."

Draco blinked in surprise. The mudblood had visited him? "How often did she come?"

Pomfrey gave him a small glare as she moved to his sheets, narrowing her eyes as if she thought he would be disgusted by her answer. "Every morning and evening. Not for long, of course. She _is_ a prefect, she has many responsibilities, but just long enough to see if you were awake yet and to ask me how you were doing."

Draco swallowed, the guilt he felt now overpowering everything else. He felt too horrible to hate her for trying to help him or to feel mad that she'd thought it an acceptable thing to do.

"Do…" He cleared his throat. "Do you know _why_ she was here?"

Madam Pomfrey shrugged. "Not sure. She definitely wasn't fussing over you in any way, that's for certain. I think she just wanted to make sure you were alive at all anymore. And anyways, she _did_ save you. I think she had the right to feel curious about your wellbeing. Now," she said quickly, putting her hands on her hips. "You need rest. No more questions. Sleep."

Draco obliged, lying down, trying to ignore the pain in his neck and guilt in his stomach. The conversation he'd had with Madam Pomfrey did nothing but make him feel even worse.

The mudblood had hated him for five full years now, yet she'd ignored the fact so that she could check on him every day. She had loads of homework and was drowning in prefect responsibilities, yet she found time to see if he was still breathing. She'd saved his life despite his rudeness to her and had even tried carrying a polite conversation with him, but he'd ruined it.

And now he felt guiltier than he ever had in his life. Yes, she was insufferable, nerdy, and a member of the "Golden Trio," whom he openly despised, but she'd also helped him. And he felt like a terrible human being for how he'd repaid her.

Sighing, Draco turned over. There was no avoiding an apology now, not after what Madam Pomfrey had told him.

Monday was not going to be fun.

* * *

 **3356 words. Longest yet XD**

 **Don't forget to review, and idk if I've mentioned it yet, but if you like the warriors series, be sure to check out my main fanfic, The Aspen's Screech!**

 **Love you lots!**


	10. Apologies and Thanks

**I love this chapter XD So fun to write**

 **Also, small announcement at the end, but be sure to read it! enjoy!**

* * *

Hermione, flanked by Ron and Harry, laughed as she walked through the corridors. Students bustled all around her, chatting loudly as they rushed to their respective classes that early Monday morning. Bright sunshine flowed into the halls, illuminating every person as they hurried, friends by their sides.

The three teens had had a great weekend, though it was, per usual, peppered with the occasional stupid fight. Other than that, though, it had been perfectly fine. They'd sat by the lake, laughed, talked with Ginny and her current boyfriend, Dean, whom Harry could not seem to get along with, and later studied because Hermione had insisted. Yet it had been a moderately relaxing and easy going few days.

But it was Monday again and time to go back to their classes. Any other Monday would have been something for Hermione to look forward to, but what with the recent events that she'd found herself caught up in, she couldn't swallow her disappointment and reluctance that the day had finally arrived.

Why? Because she'd been told by one Madam Pomfrey that a certain blond haired, snobbish Slytherin would be making a reappearance in his classes at the beginning of this week. And after his downright rudeness and ungratefulness, Hermione was looking forward to her Potions class less than she ever had before.

As Hermione, Harry, and Ron turned a corner of the dungeons, making their way towards Slughorn's class, Hermione's eyes saw a flash of platinum hair by the doorway. There he stood, the prince of snide himself, head down and apart from the rest of students. He still looked unnaturally pale, even for him, but Hermione found that she couldn't care less at the moment.

As if sensing that he was being watched, Malfoy's head shot up and his grey eyes made contact with Hermione's brown ones immediately. Refusing to be seen as embarrassed, the Gryffindor narrowed her eyes and shot him a glare before turning to her two other friends, not seeming to be ruffled even in the slightest.

Of course, nothing got past Ron and Harry—or Harry, at least.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked lowly, face falling as soon as he saw what she was looking at. "Oh, don't tell me he's back so soon. Everyone's better off without that bloody git showing himself."

Hermione sighed. "Well, I guess the peaceful existence I've had for the past week will be all but gone now, huh?"

Ron gritted his teeth, shooting the Slytherin a glare. "I hate him. I still can't believe what he did to you a couple weeks ago, with the fire. That no good prat was lucky we were in class, or I would've hexed him so hard that he'd have gone crying to his dear old dad."

He turned his gaze to Hermione, his eyes softening considerably. "You know, Slughorn's a reasonable professor, for the most part at least. I'm sure that if you just ask him to rearrange the seating chart, he would."

Hermione gave him a small smile. "It's tempting, really it is. But I've thought it out and I know he won't try anything again. If he does, Slughorn will give him detention for weeks. Besides, I'm not going to change seats just because of him. He doesn't affect me that badly."

Harry grinned, his slightly lopsided glasses adding to his carefree affect. "That's our Hermione. Stronger than what the ferret gives you credit for."

She smiled, but it slipped off her face as the bell rang, signaling the opening of the door and the beginning of class. Sighing, she followed her two friends into the room.

"Wish me luck," she said to Harry and Ron as she passed their table.

"Good luck," they said in unison, faces identical in their expressions of sympathy for her and their hatred for Malfoy.

The sixth-year Gryffindor girl walked stiffly to her own table, slumping into her chair beside the already seated Slytherin boy. Hermione seethed with anger, jaw clenched tightly. She couldn't even bear to look at him. After what she'd done for him, he'd abused her and pushed away her single attempt at helping him. They were enemies, but she'd forgiven him of his past transgressions enough to save his life, and yet he couldn't look past the fact that they hated each other.

Hermione in no way expected him to have thanked her profusely and kissed the ground she walked on, but she had come to think that not even _he_ could be entirely unappreciative.

Well, she'd been wrong. Very wrong.

Had it not crossed his mind that without her, he'd be dead? Or was he so cocky and arrogant that he thought of himself as invincible? That if she hadn't shown up, he'd still be walking and talking and _breathing_?

Well, if this was so, then Hermione now thought less of him than ever before. She hadn't thought it possible, but it apparently had come to be. He was so ungrateful, so unthankful, so prideful that he couldn't thank her, a _mudblood,_ for saving his life.

 _Well,_ she consoled herself, _he_ is _Malfoy. Not that that pardons his inexcusable behavior in this situation, but I can't say that I should have expected normal gratefulness from him. Given, he_ should _be thankful, but it's not below him to hate me for keeping him alive. I shouldn't be surprised._

And yet, she was. It hurt and angered her to no extent that he didn't care in the slightest about all she'd set aside.

But whatever, she guessed. He clearly was far worse than she'd ever thought.

Turning to the front of the classroom, Hermione directed her attention to Slughorn, who was rattling on about the many properties of dragon blood. At the end of his ten-minute rant, which was only paid attention to by Hermione, he assigned them to take notes from their potions textbooks.

"Page 327," he directed, going to sit behind his desk. "All on dragon blood. You'll be needing the notes for the test at the end of next week."

With barely stifled groans, the students retrieved their books from their bags, emotionlessly flipping through them until they reached the assigned section.

Hermione, who was never one to complain about the widening of her knowledge, though she already did have quite the extensive smarts for dragon blood, began her notes immediately. She scribbled furiously on her parchment, head bent, eyes narrowed, biting her bottom lip as she so often did while intrigued in a piece of writing.

She dipped her quill into her ink and began writing. " _There are currently twelve known uses for dragon's blood…."_

Beside her, Malfoy shuffled slightly, and Hermione could see him shooting her a look. Undoubtedly some sort of glare, she thought, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of getting any sort of reaction from her.

" _These uses were discovered by none other than Albus Dumbledore, headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and member of the Wizengamot…."_

Malfoy cleared his throat just barely. He sounded awkward and opposed to…something, as if reluctant.

 _Must be averse to having to do actual work in a class,_ Hermione thought smugly. _What, is "father" not here to help you?_

 _"Of these twelve uses, some include various uses in many potions, along with being a very popular oven cleaner and—"_

Malfoy muttered something, head down as he did so. His voice had been quiet, barely even audible over the scratching of quills that filled the room. Yet he looked at her expectantly, finally drawing Hermione's gaze to his own.

"Sorry?" she whispered, voice hard and cold. "What was that?"

Malfoy sighed, looking down again as his eyes narrowed. He repeated what he said, though it was still barely above a whisper.

"I…I'm sorry."

The two words were such a shock to Hermione that her eyes widened considerably as she looked at the Slytherin boy. Had he…had he just…?

"I-" Hermione stammered, confused, sure that she'd misunderstood. "Did—did you—am I hearing—what?!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, smirking just in the slightest at her baffled state of mind. "I said I'm sorry. And no, you aren't hearing things. Crazy, I know, that Draco Malfoy would ever apologize for anything, isn't it?"

His last few words held a venom in them, hissed slightly. But he seemed to shake himself out of it and continued with a slightly less hostile tone of voice.

"Look," he muttered, taking a deep, steadying breath. "I _am_ sorry, as ridiculous as it must sound. And thank you. I know that if you hadn't been there, I…." He shook his head, frowning. "Well, things would be much different. And I acted like an ass to you after what you'd done for me. I feel bad about it, I really do. So…thank you."

Hermione's mouth was now gaping widely. Was…was this Draco Malfoy sitting beside her, or had he been replaced with an actual human being? Had he really just _apologized?_

"I…" Hermione stuttered again. "I…I don't know what t-to say…."

Malfoy scoffed. "Clearly. But in case you're thinking it, which you most definitely are, I'm not lying or just saying things. Of course I wouldn't suck up to anyone for no reason." He rolled his eyes. "It's taking a damn amount of effort for me to say anything to you at all, believe me. It's not like I _want_ to say I'm sorry."

Hermione frowned, confused. "Then why are you?"

Malfoy shrugged, a look of irritation crossing his face. "I don't know. I felt awful about being so ungrateful."

Hermione allowed the smallest of smiles to cross her face, daring just enough to tease him. "You were a bit of a git."

He rolled his eyes yet again. "Yeah, well, I know it's surprising to be hearing this sort of thing from me, but don't expect it every week or something. I still don't like you. You saved my life and for that, I owe you. But don't go thinking that we're suddenly friends, because we aren't."

Hermione scoffed. "Who said I thought that?"

Malfoy grimaced. "No one, Granger. But I _did_ hear about you visiting me…."

Hermione stiffened just barely at that. Yes, she had come to see him while he was in the hospital wing, but only for a few minutes every day and just to make sure that he was alive. Had he assumed…?

"Why?" he asked. "Why did you show up at all?"

It was Hermione's turn to shrug. "I…I just felt like I should see if you were alive at all. Just to make sure, I guess. And it's not like I was sitting at your bedside, leaving you flowers or anything"—she shuddered at that—"I was just seeing that you were okay."

Malfoy nodded. He hadn't thought there would be any other reason. After all, they hated each other. "Well, thanks I guess. And sorry."

Hermione nodded, still numb from shock. "It's fine. Besides, what kind of prefect would I be if I just left you to die?"

Malfoy smirked, a guilty thought running through his mind: _You would've been a prefect exactly like me._

But Hermione couldn't hear this, of course.

Their conversation over, each still surprised that the Slytherin boy had said anything at all, the two turned back to their notes, scribbling away yet again. They did this, minds both wandering quite frequently, until the bell rang and they packed up.

Malfoy, slinging his bookbag over his shoulder, hesitated as he stood. Sniffing, he ran a hand through his hand and turned to the Gryffindor.

"See you around, Granger," he said lowly before stalking from the room.

Hermione, her mind still clouded in confusion, went to Harry and Ron. Neither of them knew that she had been the one to save Malfoy or that she had visited him a few times in the hospital. They were completely ignorant to the fact that she even had anything to do with the incident.

The morning after Hermione had found Draco, she found herself pondering whether or not she should tell her friends, but she had decided against it. Why? Well…she just felt like they'd want to know the details and everything, and she didn't feel like explaining it all to them. As Ron had said at the beginning of the year, they were allowed to have secrets.

And anyways, her telling them about what she'd done would have undoubtedly led to yet another stupid fight between her and Ron. She didn't need another one of those.

As they left potions, heading to their next classes, Hermione ran through her conversation with Malfoy in her mind yet again and it was with some shock that she realized something.

Malfoy had called her Granger. Twice. All he'd called her so far that year had been mudblood.

And Hermione found herself even more confused than before.

* * *

 **2146 words. I expected it to be like 1500 so this ain't bad XD**

 **Ok so I just wanted to tell u guys how long this story is estimated to be! I did a full story write up, basically just laying out what's going to happen in every chapter, and the story will be 50 chapters exactly, unless I add or remove a chapter idea or something, IDK. Thoughts? too long or ok?**

 **Also, let me just say that DAMNNNNNN IT GETS GOOD! XD**

 **Please review! Love you lots!**


	11. The Run In

**Here's the next chapter! This one and the next one were originally one chapter, but it was almost 4000 words, so I decided to just split them up XD**

 **Also, another important author's note at the bottom. Please read.**

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Draco's fingers trembled as he put the letter down on the table. It was a sunny day as it had been for the past week, but the light didn't reach his heart. After reading what he just had, he could find no shred of happiness or hope to cling to.

He had received the same note from his mother before, from when he had lived through his sixth year for the first time. It was a shocking reawakening to the fact that this was real, that he did in fact have a mission, that it wasn't just his imagination.

He wished it would just go away. He didn't want to have anything to do with the Death Eaters, didn't want to be associated with the Dark Lord. He didn't want this pressure hanging over his head, didn't want his family to pay any price for his incompetence.

He rested his head on his hands, pressing the palms over his eyes as he sighed. What was he going to do?

Sitting in the almost deserted Great Hall on that Saturday morning, Draco shot a glare at the letter, wishing he could burn it. But he felt that he couldn't do it, that if something went wrong and this was the last letter he got from his mother, then he should hold onto it, no matter what its message was.

Though he wished desperately to be able to forget what it said.

 _Draco,_

 _I hope that your school year thus far has been living up to your expectations. From past experiences, I know just how busy sixth year can be. Of course, your case is much different than mine, but I know that you are more capable than anyone thinks._

 _I know you can do this, Draco. Don't believe for a second that you are unable to carry out the task you've been assigned. I know it must seem like a lot, but you can do it. Your father and I are hoping against hope every day that you are away that you are making significant progress. We know how much pressure must be on your shoulders, and for that, I am sorry. But you can do it, I know you can. You are the smartest boy I have ever known; if you can't do it, no one can._

 _But you_ can _do it. Please, remember that. There is nothing standing in your way, nothing keeping you from succeeding, nothing that you can't handle. Just remember what is at stake and I am confident that you will have the strength to carry out your mission. And I can always offer you my advice whenever you ask for it, though I am not allowed to give you any actual help. I'm sorry. But there is too much on the line as it is for me to dig my own grave already._

 _I love you, Draco. Remember that every day, if you can. Please, do your best to remember it. Please, make us proud and save us from what is unspoken but nonetheless implied beyond measure._

 _We know you can do it._

 _~N. Malfoy_

The letter should have made him feel better, but it only heightened Draco's nerves and fear. What was he supposed to do? He knew how to fix the vanishing cabinet, for he had already done it once, but was he supposed to do it again?

 _Dumbledore said things would be different this time around…_ Draco thought, swallowing in attempt to moisten his dry throat. _Is_ this _supposed to be different? Do I still complete what I've been ordered to do?_

The Dark Lord had made it quite obvious that if he failed, his family would be killed, or tortured into insanity at the very least. But that had been the first time, so were things somehow different now?

Draco groaned, shoving the note into his robes and getting up from the table. He wished that he had someone to talk to about this, to express his concerns, to get advice from.

But he was alone and that was how he liked it, apparently. So he'd learn to deal with things on his own and be strong.

He didn't need anyone.

Walking from the hall with the feigned swagger of someone who owned the world, Draco made his way up the stairs, heading to the seventh floor. Maybe spending some time in the Room of Requirement would help him sort out his thoughts.

Not many students were in the halls that morning, the majority of them being out in the autumn air, taking advantage of the last few weeks before it snowed. Draco had shown up late to breakfast, so not many students had been there when he'd arrived, already having had gone outside, going about their Saturdays.

Of course, Draco liked that he was alone. He preferred solitude to large crowds.

Nonetheless, the almost entirely deserted halls of Hogwarts did present him with a single person, whom he ran into on the third floor. He groaned, rolling his eyes as he saw her. Granger.

They seemed to have some sort of uncanny predisposition to see a lot of each other this year.

But she didn't see him in the corridor, for her back was turned to him in the otherwise empty stretch of the castle. She kneeled on the floor, hurriedly picking up a pile of dropped books and parchment, all of which were splayed about around her. Her hair, messy and hiding her face from Draco, was frizzier than normal, looking as if a rat had taken refuge in it.

Draco walked towards her, making sure to make no noise. As he got closer, he saw just how much she'd dropped and wondered why she had such a large amount of books and random papers. Surely they weren't all hers?

But no matter, for he was behind her now. Acting before he could think, he shoved her over, smirking as she dropped all of the books she'd retrieved and fell to the floor, not having been prepared for the rough push.

Draco laughed, walking around her, and headed towards the other end of the corridor. A small part of him asked how he could possibly do something like that to her after she'd looked upon him kindly, but he kicked the thought to the back of his head. He'd apologized and thanked her, so the matter was behind them, right? With the guilt gone from his mind now, he was free to going back to how he treated her before.

But the guilt wasn't gone—not entirely, anyways—and his conscious urged him to turn around as he reached the corner of the hallway. He should at least have the decency to give Granger a backwards glance.

So, sighing as he did so, Draco looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see what greeted his eyes. There was Granger, apparently having given up on bringing order to the chaos around her for the time being. She sat on the floor, hair masking her face, looking downtrodden as she tried to inconspicuously wipe at her face.

Draco paused. Was she…crying?

After further examination, he was confused to see that his first assumption had been correct. Granger was sitting on the floor, sniffing quietly as she attempted to unnoticeably wipe away the tears that were brimming in her eyes and falling down her cheeks. Her head was down so that Draco could only see her face with great difficulty, the top of her head being what was mainly pointed in his direction.

Draco swallowed, immediately feeling bad yet again for what he'd done. God, why was he such as asshole sometimes?

 _Well it's not like I knew she was crying!_ he defended himself. _And besides, it's not like I could have just walked by her without doing_ something!

The defense sounded stupid even to his own ears.

Sighing, Draco walked over to her, doing so reluctantly, for it was against his nature to feel pity for anyone, especially a person like her. But he did so nonetheless, feeling he should do something. He _did_ owe her, after all.

Looking around to make sure no one was there to see what he was about to do, Draco kneeled down, gathering the papers and books around him, shuffling them into a neater pile. He stacked the books and organized the papers so that they were at least kind of facing the same direction.

Confusion swept over him as he saw that she'd been carrying three copies of the same few textbooks. Flipping through them, though, it didn't take him long to realize why: the extra two belonged to Pothead and the Weasel.

Grimacing, he looked at the pile of papers and saw that they consisted of a mixture of the three Gryffindors' different scrawls. Granger's stuck out as the neatest, of course, and Potter's was at least legible, but Weaselby's was barely discernable.

Typical.

He sighed angrily as he piled the papers together in a more organized manner, frowning while he did so. He could fully believe that Potter and Weasley were lazy enough to not want to haul around their books all day, but to force someone they thought of as their friend to do it for _both_ of them was just…stupid and mindless.

Not that he was mad for Granger's sake, no. He just was eager to find anything to hate them more for.

And as he piled the girl's stuff together for her, he felt her perplexed gaze watching him the whole time, her person radiating confusion.

With the books and papers under one arm, Draco stood. In an action that surprised both him and Granger, he extended his hand, taking hers and helping her to her feet.

Suddenly embarrassed for reasons unknown to him, he shoved her things at her. "Here," he said roughly.

She sniffed as she took them, eyes still shining with tears. "Thanks."

The following silence was one of the most awkward ones Draco had ever encountered in his entire life. He didn't know what to do next.

Looking away from Granger, eyes frowning, he scoffed. "You shouldn't be their bitch, you know," he growled, gesturing to the books and papers.

Granger looked at her hands, nodding after a second. "I-I know. I just…." She sighed, shaking her head. "I don't know. It doesn't matter. Thanks, anyways. And sorry."

She turned away from him, never once meeting his gaze, and walked off in the other direction, discreetly wiping at her eyes again. Draco snorted once she was gone, shaking his head as he himself headed off, moving towards the seventh floor again.

He didn't know why he'd done what he'd just done. Frankly, he didn't care, either. He just wanted to forget that it had happened at all.

And now that he'd done something "nice" for her, maybe that meant that they were even again, that he didn't owe her anything.

 _Yes,_ the sarcastic corner of his mind drawled, _because helping her pick up some books makes up for her saving your life. You two are_ totally _even now. Completely._

Scowling, Draco pushed the thought away from him like he had been doing so often these days. This was the least of his worries at the moment.

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 **1881 words! Nice!**

 **The next chapter, which I've already written, is basically the same as this one, just from Hermione's perspective, but this scene only takes up about ¼ of the chapter, so it is still mostly different…IDK XD**

 _ **IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ:**_ **ok, so again, I'd like to stress the importance of reviews to me. Each time I update, I get a good 200-250 views, but have averaged at about 3 reviews a chapter. so...obviously those numbers don't add up. Please, guys, be sure to review. If I don't get feedback, it seems pointless to write the story at all. So please take like ten seconds to tell me something you liked or even hated about the chapter. Yeah...ok that's it. But please, I really want motivation for this story.**

 **Love you lots!**


	12. Offers of Help

**Here it is! It's basically chapter 11, part 2, but it has some different situations in it, also. Enjoy!**

 **And as always, thank you to anyone who ever reviews, follows, and favorites! You guys are my light! PLEASE BE SURE TO REVIEW!**

* * *

Hermione flopped onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling with her limbs splayed out at her side. Her eyes were still damp, but they were slowly drying themselves. The day had just been so…ugh! It wasn't even noon yet, but it had taken a turn for the worst.

The past few weeks had been going downhill for her relationship with Ron; it seemed that all they ever did anymore was fight. She tried not to be engaged in such stupid squabbles, but Ron was making that a very hard task to partake in. It was like he _wanted_ to constantly fight with her!

Of course, she wasn't so stupid and egotistical to think that it was entirely his fault. She knew that every fight that had ever existed, whether or not it involved her or not, had two sides to it, and therefore the blame should be shared. Furthermore, however, that didn't necessarily mean that the share was equal.

And in this situation, Hermione was almost entirely convinced that the fault was less on her shoulders than it was on Ron's.

For just that morning, they'd gotten into another of their famous quarrels….

 _Hermione walked into the busy Great Hall, readjusting the piles and piles of books and paperwork in her arms. She'd taken the liberty to grab her friends' schoolwork along with hers, sure that they'd appreciate her initiative._

 _Reaching where Harry, Ron, and Ginny were sitting, she dropped the books on the table, giving her aching muscles a rest. Unfortunately for Ron, his cereal bowl shook violently as the heavy objects hit the table, splashing half a spoonful of milk onto his robes._

 _"Oi!" he exclaimed, looking put off at his barely damp clothing._

 _Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling nonetheless as she sat down. "Sorry, Ronald. Anyways," she said, turning to address Harry along with the redhead. "I've brought down your guys' schoolwork along with mine. I thought it best for us to get a good start on it today so that we'll have less tomorrow. Besides, there's way too much for us to complete it to the best of our abilities the night before it's due."_

 _Harry nodded as he slowly buttered a piece of toast. "Yeah, okay. Makes sense."_

 _Ron, on the other hand, seemed quite opposed to this proposition. "But Hermione," he argued. "It's Saturday. You know, the day to relax and do_ nothing? _Ring a bell?"_

 _Hermione sighed. "Yes, Ron, it 'rings a bell.' I just thought that if we work for an hour or two, we'd save ourselves some hassle and stress tomorrow night."_

 _"Well," the redhead objected. "I'd prefer to spend my Saturday in the way_ I _want to."_

 _Ginny exchanged a glance with Hermione, who was slowly beginning to become irritated. "Ron, are you okay? Is something the matter?"_

 _He let out a pff of annoyance. "No, Hermione, nothing's the matter. I'm just getting tired of you pushing your studying schedule on us all the time. I mean, I would like to have some of my time be managed by myself every once in a while."_

 _"Well okay," she contradicted. "But I'm doing this for your best interest. I like relaxing as much as the next girl, but this has to get done, so why not finish it early?"_

 _Ron laughed as he slopped his spoon back into his bowl. "_ You _like relaxing? I'd never know it from all the time you spend reading!"_

 _Hermione blinked in surprise at his response. Funny…it sounded almost exactly like something a certain blond had told her just in the past couple weeks._

 _"I'm sorry, Ron," she said, frustration leaking into her voice. "But where would the three of us be if I hadn't spent as much time in the library and around books as I do? We wouldn't have survived first year!"_

 _"Yeah, well, that's_ your _thing, Hermione." Ron rolled his eyes. "I, on the other hand, have some actual hobbies."_

 _Hermione let out a single harsh laugh. "Oh, like what? Pathetically practicing for Quidditch? You know that if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even be on the team, right?"_

 _Hermione felt a jolt of pleasure at the furious look that crossed his face. It was surprising to her that she felt so smug about it, even more so that she felt no guilt about what she'd said._

 _"I didn't need you to help me!" he spluttered. "I could have made it without you hexing Cormac!"_

 _Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sure, Ron, keep telling yourself that."_

 _Harry, sensing an oncoming explosion from Ron, tried to intervene. "Guys, why don't we just—"_

 _"I_ will _keep telling myself that because it's the truth!" Ron snapped, voice slowly rising in volume. "I_ don't _need you to constantly help me with every little thing, Hermione! I'm fully capable of handling my own issues!"_

 _"Oh, okay then! I'll remember that the next time you ask me to help you with your homework, the homework that_ you _are too lazy to do on your own! Either that or you're just too stupid to know how to figure it out by yourself!"_

 _Ron slammed his hand into the table. "No, I_ don't _need you to do it for me! You ever wondered why I always ask you to do it? Because I know you'll do it, all of it, just because you have nothing better to do! You spend all your time cooped up in the library or with your nose shoved into some damn book! And you're so eager and willing to do the work for me that I'd be an idiot_ not _to take advantage of it!"_

 _Hermione stood, eyes welling up in angry tears, though she refused to let them fall. "You think I want to do everything for you? That I'm just waiting for you to ask for my help so that I can jump up and help you?"_

 _Ron stood, too, eyes narrowing in anger. "Um, yeah! Anyone can tell that that's all you do because it's your favorite pastime!"_

 _"Well maybe I've been helping you because I'm your friend!" Hermione yelled, running a hand through her already messy hair in frustration. "I thought you appreciated it, but apparently I'm only here to do your work for you! I thought you actually were glad that I was so willing! But I guess I was wrong, wasn't I?"_

 _"Yes!" Ron shouted, hands on the table. Almost the entire hall was watching them now, entranced by their fight. "I know, it must be shocking to you, isn't it? The great Hermione Granger was wrong about something. A first for you, isn't it? Big deal! You were wrong! But I suppose that's your worst nightmare. Because being around all those books has made your head so big that you know_ everything, _so getting something wrong must be a shocker, huh? Face the music, Hermione! You_ don't _know what you're doing! You're book smart, but aside from that, you have nothing! So stop telling me how to run my life. I can do it on my own, without you! I don't need some stuck-up know-it-all to order me around!"_

 _Hermione stood there stiffly, watching him with brown eyes full of hurt and fury. How could he say that to her? After all of these years?_

 _The hall was silent as they anticipated her retort. But it didn't come. She just stood there, staring at Ron with her brown eyes that were filled to the brim with emotion._

 _After a long and suspenseful moment, she took an unsteady breath. "Fine," she managed, her voice surprisingly strong and fierce. "I'll leave you alone. Have fun finding someone else who can put up with your bullshit."_

 _Ignoring Harry and Ginny's pleadings, Hermione gathered the books and papers in her arms and swooped from the hall, her eyes filling with tears now that she was alone. Wanting to get away from everyone else, she went to the one place she knew would be deserted on such a beautiful Saturday morning._

 _And as she'd predicted, the library was uninhabited. Finding a table in the corner of the room, she sat down, sighing as she covered her head with her arms. Why did they have to get into fights so much? Why couldn't they just get along like they used to?_

 _She didn't understand it. She thought that they were supposed to be together, but things had just gotten worse over the past few months. He'd been getting angrier at her for the dumbest things, like her offering to help them with homework, and had said some nasty things. She didn't know why she kept forgiving him, but she did._

 _She swallowed as a silent tear slipped from her eye. She really needed to get herself a backbone. Maybe it_ was _her fault that he'd gotten mad at her today. If she'd been less movable over the past few years, than maybe he wouldn't have been so careless about their friendship and used her so much._

 _Because he_ had _used her. If what he said was true, then he really didn't think she was anything more than a walking dictionary, someone to do the hard work for him. Was that all their friendship was based off of? Had Malfoy been right when he said they only kept her around for her brains?_

No, _she thought._ He's just mad. He didn't mean what he said. He was just mad.

 _Wishing desperately that she could fully believe herself, Hermione gathered her things and left the library. It had been half an hour since she'd fled the Great Hall, so hopefully everyone was gone from the castle by now._

 _But not her. She had no intentions of going outside. She'd rather go to her dorm and read._

 _It angered her to think that Ron was right about one thing, that she preferred her books to any other hobby. But she wouldn't let his words change who she was._

 _While she was walking down an empty corridor on the third floor, she looked out the window and onto the Hogwarts grounds. Below her, she could make out little people as they went about their Saturdays, laughing and talking in the sun. Squinting her eyes, she even thought she could make out a black haired boy and two redheads as they walked to Hagrid's hut._

 _Unfortunately for Hermione, her distraction led to her obliviousness of the pile of books she was currently carrying. With a small tilt, they fell over, scattering on the stone floor._

 _This was enough to push her over the edge. Letting out a sob, she leaned over, hurriedly picking up the books and parchment around her as the tears poured down her face._

 _Today was turning out to be just peachy._

 _And then suddenly, she felt a shove from behind and she fell over. She let go of the books she'd retrieved, hands out in front of her to stop her descent, though they did nothing to keep her from unceremoniously crashing to the floor in a tangle of brown hair and black robes._

 _She didn't need to look up to see who the cruel laugh belonged to. Instead, she bowed her head, wiping her eyes to try to keep him from seeing her crying. If he saw, it'd just be another thing he could hold over her head, another example of how much of a weak mudblood she was._

 _But she knew that he'd seen her tear streaked face when his footsteps stopped at the end of the hallway and she could feel his piercing eyes on her. She prayed that he'd just leave her alone, but she heard his footsteps approaching and readied herself for his torment._

 _Yet it never came. Instead, he kneeled next to her and gathered the books and parchment, piling them together and doing his best to organize the mess. Hermione couldn't believe what she was seeing; was Malfoy actually helping her?_

 _He was surprising her quite a lot this week._

 _Her eyes followed his every moment, bewildered at what was happening. No, this couldn't be him. She was dreaming, surely. This was all wrong._

 _He frowned as he flipped through a few of the textbooks, then scowled and added them to the rest of the pile. Finished with his work, he stood up…_

 _And offered her his hand. In awe of what was happening, she took it, brain too numb to even comprehend anything._

 _Soon afterwards, they'd parted ways, Hermione's mind a jumbled mess of thoughts. Why had the boy who hated her and whom she equally despised just done something nice for her?_

He's just paying you back, _she thought._ After you helped him, and all. That's it.

 _But then why had he said that she shouldn't be "their bitch"? Of course saying it like that sounded like an insult, but she knew what he meant. He was saying that she shouldn't do every little thing Ron and Harry told her to do, that she should stick up for herself._

 _So then she_ was _right when she'd thought she needed a backbone. Even Malfoy, who didn't pay any attention to her at all, could see it._

 _Confused beyond words and competent thoughts, Hermione headed to her dorm, ready for the day to be over already. All she wanted to do was curl up in bed and read._

 _And forget about everything that had just happened. The entire morning had been too perplexing for her to even begin to comprehend._

* * *

 **2253 words. Longer than I expected this chapter to be XD**

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	13. Give It Some Thought

**Here it is!**

* * *

Hermione walked through the halls on a brisk Monday morning. Snow fell outside, throwing the corridor into a white light. She wrapped her robes closer around her as she went, shivering slightly in the late November air.

Harry strolled along next to her, rubbing at his green eyes underneath his tilted glasses. His scruffy black hair was untidy as usual and seemed to give physical evidence to how little he wanted to be awake at the moment.

Ronald, however, was gone from the picture. Hermione had long forgiven him for the hurtful things he'd said to her that morning in the Great Hall several weeks ago, but he had been ignoring her ever since she refused to help him on an essay the Friday previously. He'd yelled at her about how he'd apologized and she should just move on, but Hermione refused to give in to this, too. Harry had been the one to convince her of forgiving Ron in the first place, and she had reluctantly agreed. But that didn't mean she wasn't still sour about it.

Deep within her, though, Hermione knew that she'd return to helping with his schoolwork soon. She'd forget or at least ignore the things Ron had said to her so that their friendship could carry on. At the moment, did she want to do that? No. Never. But she was all for friendship, for staying with the two people whom she called her closest companions, and if that meant she had to overlook several key events, then she supposed she'd do it.

She still wished that they would be the ones to apologize once in a while, though. Their fights weren't always her fault, after all.

Hermione and Harry stopped outside of the Potions class, sitting as they waited for the bell. A few other students floated about, talking to friends or hurrying off to their own rooms. All in all, the remotely isolated hallway provided for a peaceful solace from her disastrous and now routine social issues.

"So," Harry's voice said as he sat down. "Ron's still mad at you, then?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. I didn't help him on an essay."

Harry sighed, looking down. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I'll talk to him later if you'd like."

"No," she said. "If he's going to get over it, he should do it on his own. I'm tired of his 'apologies' that don't mean anything and his predisposition to get into fights with me. I just…ugh!" she groaned, rolling her eyes. "I wish we would stop it! I don't want to be in any fights with him! But he seems to enjoy it, so who knows how long we'll keep it up."

"Are you sure you don't want me to say anything?" Harry asked, concern sketched across his face. "I'm sure I could make him see reason."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Hermione muttered, looking up at the ceiling. "If he really regrets it, he'll show it."

Harry nodded, eyes bathed in sadness. "He'll come around, you'll see. Eventually, at least."

He shifted slightly, sitting up taller as his mood changed. "Now, for lighter topics…thoughts on Hogsmeade?"

Hermione's face lit into a grin instantly. The first Hogsmeade trip of the year was this Saturday, just five days away. Along with every other third through seventh year in the school, she was ecstatic; she could already taste the butterbeer, hear the cheerful laughter from Zonko's Joke Shop, and smell the sweet scents wafting to her nose from Honeydukes. It was sure to be fun, like it had always proved to be.

And maybe it would help to bond Hermione and Ron again.

Yes, she was sure of it. Harry, Ron and she would all go together as they always did. They'd laugh, they'd talk, they'd forget; it was their usual Hogsmeade schedule.

And Ron would find that he'd been silly for getting mad at her for no solid reason. He'd apologize, sincerely for once, and she'd forgive him. They'd be friends again…and maybe even more than that. Hermione had always felt that there was more to their book than just the front cover.

"I'm so excited," Hermione grinned, finally reacting to Harry's question. "I can't wait. It'll be a nice change from the normality that is my life."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Normality? Hermione, your life is anything _but_ normal. I don't think most sixteen year olds have faced three headed dogs, giant snakes, werewolves, and Death Eaters in a time span of just five years."

She threw back her head and laughed. "I suppose that's true. I guess I'm just not so used to having a year be so…so seemingly normal this far into it, you know? I mean, nothing big has happened yet. By now, we've usually already gotten into trouble for doing something against school rules."

Harry shrugged, smiling. "What can I say? That's what you get for being friends with me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ah, such a heavy price to pay. Some days, I don't know how I manage."

The green-eyed boy put his hand over his heart, sighing. "Oh, but you love me. You do."

"I wouldn't count on it, Potter," a snarky voice cut in. "I don't think _anything_ is capable of loving something as stupid as yourself."

The two sitting teens turned to the voice, eyes narrowing in unison at the sight of the bored Slytherin boy who was leaning up against the wall as he watched them in an irritated manner. His blond hair fell over his forehead casually, stopping just above his steel eyes. His robes looked like they'd been thrown on and he had a certain scruffy feeling about him beneath his daily bored demeanor. To Hermione, he seemed almost tired, stressed, confused, lonely.

But he was definitely doing a good job of hiding it. And a very effective way of achieving this was by being the egotistical prat that he always was.

"What is it, Potter?" he sneered. "Didn't realize how much of a half-blood git you are?"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry growled. "At least I have friends in the first place. Everyone you used to have has deserted you."

Malfoy's nose flared in the slightest and his face turned red. His mouth opened to deliver a stinging retort, but the bell rang and Slughorn slung the door open, beckoning any of the children present to come in. Hermione and Malfoy made their way over to their table, both annoyed and frustrated.

Hermione sighed. _And this morning had been going so well. Or better than normal, at least._

Hermione shot a quick look at Malfoy, watching him grind his palms into his eyes as he sighed. He rested his head on his hands, not bothering to look up as Slughorn began a rant on herbs.

Ever since that day in the corridors where Malfoy had oddly helped her with her books, the two had been slightly less hostile. _Slightly._ Given, they still left Potions fuming at something the other had said more often than not, but it had begun to be less intense and hurtful.

For one, Malfoy had stopped referring to her as "mudblood." This came as a relief to Hermione as much as it was a surprise, for she hated the derogatory term with all that she was, but she wasn't complaining at the somewhat less hateful attitude that Malfoy had adopted.

Of course, he was still a right imbecile. Making fun of her was his favorite pastime and he never passed up the chance to insult her. But he seemed just slightly less keen to throw a particularly harmful blow her way most days. And Hermione was thankful for the change.

Deciding that it never hurt to try to start a polite conversation, Hermione cleared her throat quietly. "So, Malfoy," she started. "How was your weekend?"

"Fantastic," he drawled, shooting her an annoyed look. "Or at least it _was_ until you started talking to me."

Hermione gritted her teeth. "No need to be so snappy. I'm just trying to fill the silence."

He snorted. "Like I'd want it to be filled with your voice. Please, Granger, continue."

Hermione ignored the sarcasm in his voice. If he was telling her to keep talking, even if he was in no way serious, she'd happily oblige.

"Well," Hermione said, taking pleasure in the irritation on his face. "I had a rather productive weekend. I got all my homework done for the next week and I finished the Defense Against the Dark Arts essay."

"Of course you did," Malfoy scoffed. "All you do is sit around with your nose jammed in a stuffy little book. It'd be pathetic if you hadn't finished it."

Hermione wasn't in the mood to be in any sort of fight today, no matter who it was with, even Malfoy. So she looked past his snide comment as she had so aptly been able to do recently.

"Anyways," she said. "I am quite looking forward to Hogsmeade. It should be fun."

The Slytherin boy shot her a doubtful look laced with superiority. "Fun? For you to go with Pothead and Weaselby? What, are you excited to get into a fight with them about another pointless and mind numbing topic that only works to deprive you of any dignity you've been able to attain?"

Hermione was flustered at his words. "I-I don't th-think I—" she spluttered, blinking. Her face quickly turned angry. "Listen here, Malfoy: you don't know what's going on with me and my friends right now. You don't have the right to say something like that."

"Granger," he drawled. "It's pretty clear to anyone who's been paying attention—no, anyone with eyes—that the _dream team_ has been going through some problems right now. Don't try to deny it. You'll just look more needy and pitiful than normal."

Hermione looked down, a frown of anger crossing her face. He was right, of course. It was quite obvious that Ron and her had been in several rows for the past few months. She didn't know how she hadn't thought that it'd be so plain to see.

"Well," she hissed, working to keep her calm. "What about you, then? Any plans for Hogsmeade?"

He seemed to have a moment of confusion at the fact that she'd even asked him, but it had been so fast that Hermione was sure she imagined it. He was back to his normal bored look in moments.

"What does it matter to you?" he sneered, but there seemed to be actual curiosity and perplexation beneath his angry tone of voice. It was hardly there, but Hermione didn't miss it.

So she shrugged and answered the question in as kind a way as she could with Malfoy. "It doesn't, really. Just wondering."

He thought for a moment before narrowing his eyes. "Well, I'm not going."

The Gryffindor sixth year blinked in surprise. "What? Why not?"

Draco shot her a look. "Because I don't want to. It's pointless, if you think about it. If I wanted a butterbeer, or any Honeydukes candy, for that matter, I'd just snap my fingers and have a school elf bring me some. Besides, it'll be cold."

Hermione gave a small snort of laughter, which she tried to stifle but failed miserably at. This only earned her a fierce glare from Malfoy.

"Typical, Malfoy," she said, rolling her eyes. "Too afraid of a little discomfort to go outside?"

He turned red. "Not in the slightest, you git. I just don't feel like going. I'd prefer the peace of an empty common room. And if it's as crowded as I know it will be, I'd rather not go. I hate crowds."

What he didn't tell her was the real reason he wasn't going. No, he didn't care about the cold or the crowds. And he loved getting a fresh butterbeer from The Three Broomsticks. But the fact of the matter was that he had no one to go with.

Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson weren't exactly on good terms with him, nor he with them. And Malfoy hadn't even tried to make any other friends. True, he'd been incredibly popular every year before this one, and he could have regained that fame in the snap of his fingers, but he'd decided not to. No one else was worth his time.

And, you know, there was the underlying threat that anyone he grew to care about could be killed brutally and painfully. There was always that.

But of course he didn't say this to the girl who sat next to him.

Hermione was entirely oblivious to the thoughts running through his head, so she just shrugged her shoulders, a small smile on her lips from what he'd said about his hatred of the cold and crowds.

"Well," she said. "I think you should at least consider going. You won't always have the opportunity to go to Hogsmeade, you know, after seventh year is over and we're all gone. It's worth giving it a small chance, in my opinion."

She could clearly see the affect her words had on Malfoy. His eyes narrowed and were shaded with confusion and slight disgust; he clearly didn't know what to think of Hermione's attempt at convincing him.

Hell, not even _she_ knew where it came from.

But she overlooked it and turned to the front of the room, where Slughorn continued to talk as if his students were actually giving him the time of day. And at the end of the period, she grabbed her bookbag and walked to Harry and Ron without so much as a backwards glance.

Yet she wasn't greeted with the welcoming smiles she'd been hoping to receive. Well, Harry smiled at her, but Ron refused to, his eyes screwing up in anger as he looked her over. He snorted and went back to packing his things away.

Hermione knew she shouldn't poke the bear, but after trying so hard to not get into a fight with Malfoy, she found that she was very easily put off with the redheaded boy.

Crossing her arms, she tilted her head. "Is something the matter, Ronald?"

He shook his head violently as he closed his bag, finally turning to her. "Oh, of course not, _Hermione._ Everything's just fine."

She narrowed her eyes. "Spit it out, would you? I'm not an idiot!"

"Fine," he spat. "I just think it's a bit backwards that you'll talk to someone like Malfoy but entirely ignore me!"

Hermione's jaw dropped. Did he really have the audacity to say something so stupid after the silent treatment he'd been giving her?

"What?!" she exclaimed, hands clenched into fists in pure fury. "How could you say that?! Have you looked at yourself recently? You haven't spoken to me in days because I simply thought you should do a single essay by yourself!"

"So?" he shouted. "That doesn't affect the fact that you shouldn't be talking to _Malfoy_ of all people!"

"How _dare_ you!?" Hermione shrieked, eyes on fire with contempt and rage. "What makes you think you can tell me what to do? You don't own me, Ronald Weasley! I'll do what I want when I want and no one, least of all you, will be able to stop me!

"Besides," she hissed, "like it or not, he sits next to me. I'm bound to talk to him sometimes. But I'll be damned if your telling me not to will stop me from doing so."

Ron sneered angrily. "Well, you must be losing your touch, then, Hermione. It's pretty obvious that anyone who would talk to that lousy ferret doesn't have the sense to see why they shouldn't."

Hermione felt a stab of hurt run through her, but she didn't let it show. Instead, she took a deep breath; she wouldn't let this get to her.

"Alright, Ron," she said lowly. "I guess I'm senseless, then. I'll leave you to find out what you are. Because we both know that you aren't above me in any way."

She slung her bag over her shoulder and stalked from the room, still inwardly fuming at his words.

That idiot had ruined _everything!_ They were supposed to get through the week without yelling at each other! They were going to have fun at Hogsmeade!

 _Well, not anymore,_ Hermione thought as she walked through the crowded hall. _I wouldn't go with that git for all the butterbeer in the world._

And as much as she wanted Harry to take her side on this, she knew he wouldn't. He never did. He was more loyal to Ron than her in the end and he never failed to stick by his side. So the two boys would undoubtedly be going together as they always did, just without her this time.

And she couldn't go with Ginny; Dean and her would be together.

She supposed that she'd be going alone, then. She was fine with that, really; she didn't need the company of others to feel important, though it did help sometimes.

And staying behind wasn't an option. She wouldn't give Ron the satisfaction of taking her Hogsmeade trip away just because of their stupid fight.

So Hermione slapped a smile onto her face as she made her way to her next class, feigning an easy going attitude. She wasn't going to let a boy ruin her day.

Or at least she wouldn't admit to herself that he had.

* * *

 **2904 words. Much longer than I expected it to be.**

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	14. Influenced Decisions

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 **So far, this is my favorite chapter by far XD It's so fun**

* * *

 _I can't believe I'm doing this._

The thought ran through his mind as he grabbed his fur coat and shoved his hands deep into the pockets. He strode from the empty common room, his trademark smirk plastered upon his face. The sound of his shoes reverberating around the empty corridor filled his ears, reminding him of how alone he was.

 _No, I'm not lonely. I'm strong. I don't need anyone._

In less than ten minutes, Draco found himself walking down the path to Hogsmeade. Snow fell around him, dotting itself in his platinum blond hair. A chill ran through his body, making him try to bury himself even further into his large and rather expensive coat.

 _Stupid Granger, convincing me to do this. I should never have given what she said: a second thought._

Because as much as he didn't want to admit it to himself, it was what she'd said that made him leave the comfort of his dorm. She'd been right; Draco wouldn't be at Hogwarts much longer ( _Thank God,_ he thought). He should be taking every opportunity to go to the little village while he could. He wouldn't always be able to, after all.

And he had to admit, it was quite beautiful. Despite the snow that fell about him, it was a rather clear day, allowing one to be able to see every single snowflake. The pathway leading Draco onwards, which had previously been trampled by hundreds of students' footsteps, had been blanketed again by the snowfall, giving the Slytherin a perfect sheet of white to walk through. It was so flawless that it seemed wrong to mess it up in any way, even by simply walking on it.

But Draco pushed these weak thoughts from his mind. It was just snow.

He looked up at the sound of feet coming towards him from the direction of Hogsmeade and a grimace crossed his face as he saw who it was. Zabini, Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle were all stomping their way along, talking and guffawing in the white light. When they saw him, identical looks of disgust crossed their features and they glared his way, not missing out on the opportunity to throw some profanities at him as he passed.

But Draco just looked resolutely forward. He didn't need them. They were always useless, anyways.

Yet the sight of the four of them filled him with longing. Not longing for them to be his friends again, God no, but for someone, _anyone_ to talk to.

He had no friends. He had no one.

And they all had someone. It made Draco jealous, angry.

There was no use trying to deny it: he really did miss having a friend. The past few weeks had been torture for him, trying to get through all of his thoughts and worries without a shoulder to lean on. He was a Malfoy, of course, so the chances of him having leaned on one in the first place were incredibly low, but the offer would have been nice.

He thought back to Granger, Scarhead, and Weasel. Yes, they were currently getting into fights every other day, arguing about whose side grew the greener grass, but in the end, they'd come back to each other. Who knew if this would take days, weeks, or years, but it would happen eventually. The three Gryffindors were best friends.

 _Of course, I'd rather be alone than have to talk to Potter all day,_ Draco scoffed. _That attention seeking bastard deserves whatever's coming to him._

Though this was true, that he'd never dream of having Pothead as a friend, he still knew that the boy had others, something of which Draco was lacking at the moment. And with that hanging over his head, Draco knew that if they were to ever get into a fight or a duel, Potter would win for sure simply because he'd have abundant backup. As for Draco…well, let's just say that if the two boys got into a fight, no one would be throwing themselves in between them to save him.

 _Not that I_ need _saving,_ he thought bitterly. _I can at least duel by myself. I'm not an incompetent buffoon._

With these thoughts churning away in his mind, Draco continued to walk along the path, head down as the snow fell around him. He was lost in his own worries that seemed to have no condolences, was plagued by the words that bounced around his head. But he kept walking; it was the easiest thing to do.

. . . ….. . . .

Hermione walked out of Honeydukes, towing along a bag full of sugar quills and gummy wands. So far, she'd been alone in Hogsmeade as she'd predicted that she'd be, and though it was definitely lonely, it wasn't as bad as she'd expected. No one bothered her, and it had given her time to think.

So she had.

She'd thought about Ron, about their stupid fights. She'd thought about Harry and how she knew he'd always choose the redhead over her. She thought of Malfoy and his stinging words, though she couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for him. She thought about the schoolwork she'd need to complete when she got back to her dorm.

To put it simply, she just thought. About anything, really. Anything that popped into her mind.

Hermione was making her way towards The Three Broomsticks when she heard someone calling her name. Turning, she saw the form of Ginny as she hurried over, dragging Dean behind her as she went. It was a comical scene, really, with Dean awkwardly following her, but with a smile on his face.

"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed, pausing to catch her breath. "There you are! I've been wondering where you've been."

"Oh, you know me," she smiled. "Just around."

"Listen, Hermione," Ginny started, sighing. "I wanted to apologize for everything Ron's been doing lately. He's a right git, of course, but that's still no excuse."

Hermione smiled sadly. "Ginny, it's fine, really. And it's not like it's your fault or anything. And anyways, don't apologize for him; in time, I'm sure he'll say he's sorry in person."

"He will." Ginny nodded firmly, looking very sure of herself. "You wait. But Hermione…just…just know that he doesn't mean what he's saying, okay?"

Concern and sympathy crossed her face as she talked. "He cares for you, he really does. He's just showing it in a…strange way. I don't know, maybe he's in some weird pubescent and hormonal state where he likes to yell a lot at people he cares about"—Hermione laughed at that—"but he doesn't mean it. He likes you a lot, I know it."

Hermione smiled, actually feeling considerably better. "Thanks, Ginny. I'll remember what you said."

With a last grin to the pair, Hermione walked away, leaving them to go to Zonko's while she herself went to The Three Broomsticks. As she opened the door of the restaurant, she saw a flash of red hair next to a scruffy black-haired boy and swallowed, willing herself to order herself a butterbeer and go join them.

She could always give Ron another second chance.

. . . ….. . . .

When Draco reached the village of Hogsmeade, he was almost sad that the pathway had ended. He had rather enjoyed the sights of the white land once he'd ridden himself of his lonesome thoughts.

 _Maybe I can just turn around now,_ he thought. _I've gotten out of the school and have had my fair share of fresh air. Besides, I'd rather be alone on that trail than here with everybody glaring at me._

After a moment's hesitation, he decided that he might as well go into a store or two. After all, the trip would've been useless if he turned around now.

He stopped outside of The Three Broomsticks, deciding that he was quite in the mood for a butterbeer. Plastering a smirk onto his pale face, he stepped into the warm and crowded building, his ears immediately being filled with the sound of loud chatter and laughter.

As he walked to the counter, he was greeted by the sight of Madam Rosmerta and was instantly filled with an overwhelming sense of guilt. He recalled how he'd put her under the Imperius Curse and used her to carry out his deeds when he'd first lived through his sixth year. Because of him, she'd given Katie Bell a cursed necklace, sold Professor Slughorn somue poisoned mead, and had aided him in bringing Death Eaters into the castle by telling him when Dumbledore had been gone.

He had used her horribly for his own needs, never once stopping to think about her. And he felt dreadful for it.

But he'd decided long ago that he wouldn't make the same mistake this time around. No cursed necklace would be used, nor would any poisoned mead. In fact, Draco was still unsure of where he stood on the issue of completing the task at all.

Yet that was a question to ponder some other time. He ordered a butterbeer from her, handed her the money, and waited patiently as she went to go get his drink.

She hadn't disappeared into the back of the building for more than five seconds when the sound of shattering glass and gasps filled the pub. A louder voice rang out, yelling quite publicly above the gossip of everyone else.

As he turned to see the commotion, Draco blinked in surprise to find that the person who had caused such a ruckus was none other than Granger. But she wasn't her normal solid and coherent self; instead she stood wobbling on her feet, a look of complete rage on her face. In one hand was the broken end of a butterbeer bottle, having been smashed just seconds earlier by the girl in her angry and impulsive state. She held tightly to a table with her other hand, needing the support to keep herself from falling over.

And the table was one where—predictably—Potter and Weasel sat. Well, where Weasel _had_ sat, at least, for he was now standing, looking furious. His face was as red as his hair and was screwed up in fury.

"Hermione," he growled lowly, "I don't understand how you could think that you could come in here and try to make amends. You've done too much wrong."

"Me?" she laughed out unbelievingly, swaying slightly. "How could _I?_ Damnit, I thought it would be smart to try and patch things up between us, Ronald, but apparently that's a crime!"

"Yeah, it is," he exclaimed. "This can't just be 'patched up.' It's not that simple."

"Well _excuse me_ for trying!" she yelled, throwing her hands up in the air and letting them fall back to her side. She quickly grasped for the table again before she could lose her balance. "Is it even worth it, Ron? Trying to be friends with you?"

"If you hadn't been ignoring me, then maybe I'd think you _did_ think it was worth it," he managed between gritted teeth. "But since that's not the case, then I don't know what to say here."

"Fine," Granger snapped, eyes narrowing to slits of fire. "I'll leave, then. Forget I even bothered to try and change things."

Letting go of the table and swinging a bag from Honeydukes in front of her, the girl stumbled her way towards the entrance of the pub, glaring at anyone who made eye contact with her. She didn't notice Draco as she passed him, instead pushing her way through the door and staggering out into the snow.

Something possessed Draco to go after her, to see how much of a fool she made herself to be next, so when Madam Rosmerta came back to the counter with his drink, he quickly grabbed the bottle and swung open the door. Draco hurried into the cold weather, stowing the drink in his coat for later.

He'd thought he would have to do at least a little searching to find Granger, but he saw her within a second of leaving The Three Broomsticks. There she was, splayed out and lying face down in the snow. Her head was planted fiercely into the ground and her bag of sugar quills and gummy wands had spilled slightly, adding to the pathetic effect of it all.

Had he not seen it with his own eyes, hadn't just witnessed the scene in the pub, Draco wouldn't have believed it. Yet here was the evidence, fallen and unmoving in the snow.

Hermione Granger was drunk.

At the sight of the girl, Malfoy had a crushingly large urge to laugh; this was quite possibly the dumbest thing he'd ever seen her do. She'd just embarrassed herself in front of the majority of the school and was now a frozen heap in the snow. Who wouldn't laugh at that?

But a thought stopped him before he could make fun of her.

 _Don't you remember what she did for you? When Zabini attacked you? You needed her and she helped you despite how terrible you two have been to each other in the past. You can repay her now if you do the right thing._

Of course, a second part of him argued back.

 _But this is hilarious! I'd rather just laugh and leave her here to slowly freeze herself!_

Yet the other voice was more convincing.

 _No, you don't. You know I'm right. She deserves the help. Besides, if you were her, lying pitifully in the snow, you'd want someone,_ anyone, _to help you._

Draco closed his eyes and rubbed them with his gloved hands, groaning. Fine. _Fine._

Sighing, the Slytherin boy walked over to the pile of clothes that was his Potions partner and hoisted her to her feet. He picked up her bag from Honeydukes and stowed it in his coat, reminding himself that he'd give it back to her when they got to the castle.

He slung her left arm over his shoulder and snaked his right arm around her back, holding her waist as he supported her awkwardly in her drunken state of mind. Her head lolled forward as they walked and she barely seemed able to keep her eyes open.

Once they were on the path again, Draco could breathe easily knowing that no one would see him helping her. Not that anything could really make his social image much worse, but he didn't exactly want to go killing it.

Hermione hiccupped as they walked, sniffing. "I…I ha-hate him," she slurred, stumbling forward. Draco pulled her back slightly, bringing her level with him, not wanting to have to pick her up again if she fell over.

He snorted slightly, rolling his eyes. "Don't we all, Granger?"

The sound of her surname seemed to make something click in her mind and she frowned, turning her cloudy eyes to Draco. "Granger? B-but only M-m'foy calls me…."

And Granger finally seemed to realize who he was. "M'foy?! What are you doing here?!"

He scoffed, kicking at a clump off snow. "I owed you for helping me. Trust me, I was _that_ close to just leaving you there on the ground, but the sliver of sympathy that I possess convinced me otherwise."

Granger was silent for a long moment and the only sound that filled the air was of Draco's steady footsteps and her uneven ones. Then, finally:

"Thank you, M'foy."

He shrugged, surprised at her thanks. "Don't mention it…please. Ever. I'd rather forget it even happened."

She laughed, throwing her head back as she did so. Though the sound of it was shrouded in incoherence and peppered with hiccups, it was real, was true. Malfoy frowned at the lightness of it, wondering how she could possibly be laughing after what had just happened with Weaselby.

But she'd probably forgotten it. She was drunk, after all.

They made their way through the snow, Granger staggering about on her feet with every step. Draco was still surprised that she'd gotten sozzled in the first place, as she was such a goody two shoes, but he figured that it had probably been accidental. Apparently, she couldn't handle her butterbeer.

The two of them didn't talk much as they walked, mostly just trying to avoid each other's eyes. Even in her drunken state, Granger seemed to know that she didn't often converse with the boy who was helping her. So she didn't, and Draco didn't try to make conversation.

At long last, the duo stood at the entrance to the school, the large door only ten feet away. It was still quite deserted, as everyone was making the most of their time in Hogsmeade. But here they were, ready to part ways.

"Thnks again, M'foy," the tipsy Gryffindor girl drawled, letting go of his shoulder with what seemed to be quite a lot of effort.

Draco didn't stop her as she stumbled away from him, often staggering off to one side as she went. She had made it to the entrance when she seemed to realize something. Turning on her heel quickly, so fast that Draco was surprised she didn't topple over, she faced him and ran in his direction.

Before he could process what was happening, Granger's arms had wrapped themselves around his waist. He took a step back in surprise, a gasp escaping him. But she clung to him, warm arms hugging him tightly to her.

Then she looked up at him, her brown eyes shining, and she smiled for half a second…

Before she reached up and slapped him as hard as she possibly could.

Reeling from the sudden pain, Draco tripped backwards, barely catching himself before he fell. He cursed loudly, bringing a hand to his stinging face. Why the hell had she just done that?!

He turned to face her, face shining red where her hand had connected with it, and he opened his mouth to yell at her for her temerity...but his eyes widened and his mouth fell open in shock. There sat Granger, legs sprawled out in the snow as she bawled unashamedly. Her tears poured down her face as she howled incessantly and she gasped for breath between sobs, eyes sad and broken. Her head fell into her hands as she cried, shoulders shaking.

Draco let out a breath of extreme confusion and disbelief. Granger, even though she was drunk, was considerably more interesting than he'd previously thought.

Yet watching her on the ground, sobbing her heart out, and after everything that had happened with her thus far that day, Draco couldn't help but crack a smile. It really was quite funny.

 _I never would have thought_ she'd _be one to have done all that. Even if it wasn't her mind doing the thinking._

Shaking his head as he let out a chuckle, Draco took the three steps to where she was sitting and picked her up. He didn't trust her to walk herself to the hospital wing, so he carried her himself.

With her in his arms bridal style, Draco stepped into the castle and made his way through the corridors. After a good minute or so, Granger stopped her tears and fell asleep. Her arms clung to his neck, helping to support herself so that she didn't flop over.

Needless to say, this made Draco very uncomfortable.

But he dealt with it; he couldn't just leave her on the floor.

Finally, he reached the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey, who was dealing with a third year Hufflepuff with burns on his arm, turned to see them and walked over calmly.

"Yes?" she said, looking over the girl in Draco's arms. "What'd she do?"

"Too much butterbeer, I think," Draco scoffed, trying to look uncaring as he talked. He didn't want anyone to think that he'd helped her willingly.

"Ah, yes," Pomfrey said, shaking her head. "I've got just the sobering up potion. Better just lay her on that bed over there, deary, and you can go."

Trying very hard not to shudder at the word she'd addressed him as, Draco walked over to a nearby bed and lay Granger down. He had to unclasp her fingers from behind his neck, as they seemed to be stuck permanently there, but they eventually fell away.

Rubbing at where her hands had been, Draco looked at her one last time before turning and skulking away. He would rather not be there when she awoke from both her slumber and her influenced state of mind.

 _Hopefully she'll just forget anything happened at all,_ he scoffed in his mind. _I definitely wish I could._

But he wouldn't forget. And the fact led nowhere good.

* * *

 **3451 words.**

 **And see, it was fun XD there have been a few reviews that I've gotten where people are like "Whisperblaze, you idiot, where's the Dramione!?" I present to you, the beginning of the Dramione.**

 **Have I been doing good with the timing of it all? Because I've been trying super hard to not rush their relationship like most Dramione authors do. I mean, they do start off hating each other, after all.**

 **Please review! Love you lots!**


	15. Yesterday's Events

**Sorry it took so long to update! Here it is, anyways ;)**

* * *

The first thing that greeted Hermione's eyes was the color of white. It was blinding, overpowering, and since she couldn't for the life of her remember why she saw it in the first place, it scared her.

 _Am I dead!?_ a fearful voice in her head shrieked.

But then the rational side took over and she looked around. No, she was very much alive, just lying in a bed in the hospital wing. Light streamed in from the window strongly, throwing the large room into a bright state of white. Snow fell outside, lightly dotting the air with tiny puffs of matter.

Hermione sat up in her bed, rubbing her forehead. A throbbing headache attacked her mind, making her eyes feel as if they were about to burst. She let out a small groan and fell back to her pillows. What had happened?

A soft laugh made her eyes shoot over to her left, where she saw a smiling Madam Pomfrey. She shook her head slightly, rolling her eyes.

"I never thought," she said, "that I'd ever need to give _you_ a sobering up potion, Miss Granger."

 _Sobering potion?_ "I…" she said, but cut herself off as another shot of pain ran through her mind. Her hand flew to her head, and a small whimper escaped her.

Hermione swallowed, willing herself to talk. "I d-don't understand."

Madam Pomfrey handed her a small cup of light green potion, which she quickly drained as the healer spoke. "Let me explain: yesterday, you were brought to me just after noon. Knocked out from exhaustion, it seemed. Didn't even wake up when I forced the medicine down your throat."

Hermione tilted her head slightly, but stopped when it did nothing to help her pounding headache. "I…I was unconscious?" _But why?_

Madam Pomfrey laughed and nodded. "Yes. Noisy thing you are, too. Talked in your sleep the whole time, it seemed. Something about a 'mfoy.'"

The Gryffindor sixth year frowned. Mfoy? What did that mean?

Wait. "Madam Pomfrey, who brought me here if I was asleep?"

She smiled, throwing Hermione a knowing glance. "It was Mr. Malfoy, in fact. He came in here carrying you like you didn't weigh two pounds. Then he left after putting you on this bed. Hardly said five words to me, he did.

"I was surprised that _he_ had been the one to help you, though. I always thought you two didn't get along."

"Oh, we don't," Hermione said quickly. She had no idea why he'd help her, especially since she still couldn't remember what had happened. "Do you know anything else?"

Madam Pomfrey shrugged, picking up the cup. "Not a clue. All I know is what I've told you: that you got a bit drowsy, or so to say, and Mr. Malfoy was there to help you. Now, all is in order so I suppose that you can leave. But no more butterbeer for you this weekend, Miss Granger! I think you've had enough of that!"

Hermione smiled and nodded, ignoring the seemingly unrelated comment about butterbeer as she swung her legs out from under her sheets. Head still hammering painfully, she stood and, after throwing on her shoes, walked from the hospital wing.

The corridors that Hermione walked were utterly deserted; she didn't come across a single person as she strolled, hand pressed to her forehead as it throbbed. Being a Hogsmeade weekend, the students must have all gone back to the village for the second day available.

Hermione let out a small whimper as she turned a corner, triggering another shot of pain to go through her skull.

 _I really need to lie down,_ she thought. _This is too much right now._

But curiosity got the best of her and she had an inkling, a nagging one that refused to go away. If _he_ had been the one to bring her back, he must have had some sort of reasoning to leave Hogsmeade. Maybe he'd been bored. So maybe he was in the castle.

Probably eating, as most guys seemed to enjoy to do with their spare time.

 _Why not check? No harm done if he's gone, I can always grab myself some chocolate. That always seems to help._

Directing her feet to the Great Hall, Hermione felt that she couldn't reach her destination fast enough. She really needed to rest her head, for its painful pulsations didn't seem to be subsiding. So she hurried, making her way to the hall as fast as she could.

When she burst into the almost entirely deserted room, instinctively making her way down the Gryffindor table, she almost forgot why she was there in the first place. Hermione had thought that no one else was there, for only one other kid was immediately noticeable, a fourth year Ravenclaw, but she was wrong. Because as she finally remembered her reasoning behind being in the room in the first place, she turned to the Slytherin table.

And saw him, blond head bent down to stare, bored, at his plate.

Hermione hesitated. They were in no way friends or even acquaintances, to be frank. He'd probably scold her for thinking it was okay to approach him at all. Then she'd rush from the hall, angry and with her head hurting worse than ever.

But she wanted to know what had happened the day before. She couldn't for the life of her remember.

And what was there to lose, really? No one was there to see.

Checking first to make sure that the Ravenclaw was on his way out, the Gryffindor girl slowly walked to the Slytherin table. Her shoes echoed loudly in the emptiness of the wide room and she swallowed nervously as she made her way down the table.

She knew he could hear her. Anyone would be able to in the ear shattering silence that had been broken so noisily by her feet. But he resolutely stared at his food, clearly hoping that if he ignored her, she'd go away.

She didn't.

Instead, she reached where he sat and, after a brief pause, took a seat across from him.

He continued to ignore her, twirling his fork through a small salad. His head rested on his other hand, tilted so that he looked away from Hermione. His bright blond hair hung over his eyes so that one could almost believe that he couldn't see her.

But he could. He knew she was there.

Hermione cleared her throat, wariness making her somewhat reluctant to say anything at all. "Malfoy…?"

He didn't respond.

"Malfoy," she repeated. "I know you can hear me."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Would you look at that, Granger can tell when someone is ignoring her."

 _Stay cool._ "I know, shocker," she said shortly. "It's not like it's common sense to be able to tell."

Malfoy's eyes darted up to hers for half a second before darting down again, grey orbs irritated. He sighed and slapped down his fork, glaring at Hermione through the strands of hair that continued to shroud his vision.

"Do you want something?" he snapped, eyes narrowing.

Hermione's jaw clenched. He didn't need to be so rude, it wasn't like it had been easy for her to go over and talk to him.

"I was wondering," she started slowly. "if you knew what happened yesterday."

His eyes widened minutely, but he caught himself and sneered at her before she could be sure that he'd understood what she'd meant.

"I can't say I'm following, Granger."

She let out a small, harsh laugh. "Don't play dumb, Malfoy. I know you were there. Madam Pomfrey told me."

Malfoy cursed under his breath, looking away. Hermione's lips tugged upwards ever so slightly in victory before she forced them downwards again. If he thought she was laughing at him, he'd never tell her.

"So?" she pressed. "What happened?"

Malfoy shot her an angry look. "Why would I tell you?"

She frowned. "Because I'm curious, this relates directly to me, and it doesn't look like you have anything better to do right now."

His nose gave a small twitch of fury. "You have no right to go assuming of the things I do! You don't know, I could have _much_ more important things to occupy my time with than droning on about what you did yesterday!"

Hermione raised one eyebrow, leaning back in her seat. "Do you? Do you _really_ have more important matters to attend to?"

Malfoy's mouth hung open for a moment, caught off balance by the question. He hurried to make up for his moment of weakness, but his lapse had been enough of an answer for the Gryffindor.

"Exactly," she smirked. "Now tell me."

He snorted, rolling his eyes. "I still don't have to tell you, Granger, whether or not I have anything better to do."

Hermione glared at him. Clearly, he wasn't going to cave.

Not without a little push, at least.

And if blackmail was the push he needed, then so be it.

"Fine," the girl snapped as she began to get up from her seat. "Don't explain things to me. I'll just go around, telling everyone I see of how you helped me, hoping that someone else may know of what happened. I'm sure there's _someone_ out there who can tell me. And if not, everyone will know about how big, bad, Slytherin Malfoy helped a muggleborn like myself. I can settle for that."

As she spoke, his eyes had widened considerably so that the resemblance between them and the plate beneath him were uncanny. Before Hermione could get two feet away from the table, he spoke up.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, desperation and embarrassment alit in his voice. "I'll tell you! Just don't tell anyone that I had anything to do with you!" He sniffed and straightened his robes, looking around the still empty hall. "I have a reputation to uphold, after all."

Hermione smiled in triumph, taking her seat again. "Very well. You may begin."

Malfoy scowled, shooting her a glare of pure loathing, before he spoke. He kept his eyes downcast, anger clouding them.

"I went to Hogsmeade yesterday, just to get out of the castle for a bit. It was about noon when I went down, I think. Everyone was already there, so I never saw anyone along the path.

"Anyways, I stopped in at The Three Broomsticks to get a butterbeer when lo and behold, who should I see but you. Oh, and Potter and the ginger, of course. But you'd had a falling out. You and the Weasel were screaming at each other—quite publicly, might I add—and you left before long.

"I was curious to see what idiotic thing you'd do next to embarrass yourself, so, naturally, I followed you out. But you'd fallen over in the snow and didn't seem to realize it because…."

Hermione frowned, confused on why he'd stopped explaining. "Because?"

He still didn't respond, his bent head giving Hermione very little clues about the current situation. She tilted her head to better get a look at his facial expressions and was surprised to see that he was biting back a smile.

"Because…" he managed after a moment, fighting to keep his proud and superior disposition. "Because you were drunk."

The effect those words had on Hermione were instantaneous. Her jaw dropped, brown eyes widening largely in unison. A gasp escaped her while her hand flew to her mouth, unbelieving.

So that's what Madam Pomfrey had meant when she mentioned the butterbeer.

Hermione had had a suspicion, but she'd been hoping that she'd been wrong.

"No!" she whispered. "That's…I…No!"

Malfoy looked up, a smirk spread out over his face. One of his eyebrows was raised just slightly, and his grey eyes held smugness, disgust, and just a hint of humor.

"Not so much of a little miss perfect now, are we?"

Hermione shook her head, eyes angry. "You're lying. I'd _never_ get drunk!"

"Well," Malfoy sneered. "you did. I guess 'never' has come a bit sooner than expected. Now, may I continue?"

Hermione still refused to believe what he said (it was preposterous, after all), but she nodded nonetheless, eyes narrowing as he spoke.

"As I was saying, you were drunk. Big time. I never would have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes, what with you being such a stickler to the rules and all, but it was true. You could barely stand, proven by how pathetically you lay sprawled in the snow.

"It was hilarious, actually. And believe me, I was about to leave you there to freeze. I was going to laugh my ass off at your pitifulness and walk away, but…."

"But?"

He sniffed, looking away with annoyance and irritation clear on his face. "But I owed you. And anyways, it didn't look like anyone else was going to help anytime soon."

He hurried on with the story before the shock on Hermione's face could be turned into actual words.

"So I got you up to the castle. You were mumbling drunkenly for a good while, too, but you shut up eventually. We got to the front doors and you were staggering off when—"

Malfoy actually let out a small laugh then, surprising Hermione even more. She'd never heard him laugh before.

He realized that he'd let out a genuine sound of amusement and replaced it with a sneer quickly.

"…When you gave me a hug, then slapped me as hard as you could."

Hermione let out another gasp, which was met with a small smirk from Malfoy.

 _What the hell was up with me?!_

Malfoy seemed to be able to read her mind. "I told you, you were drunk. I'm not lying.

"And after that, I was going to bite your head off for hitting me, but you were sobbing pathetically in the snow. Just lying on the ground and crying. It was both baffling and amusing.

"That's it, really. I took you to Pomfrey after that. But I left as soon as you were on the bed. There was no reason left to stay.

"So…" he shrugged, an amused and arrogant smirk on his features. "That's it. Tell me, Granger, was it worth finding out what happened to see how flawed you really are? Must be a shocking blow to such a 'perfect' little Gryffindor, huh?"

Hermione's mouth still hung open from taking in all these things, but she shook her head at that. "I'm not perfect. I know that."

"Really?" he scoffed. "You _don't_ think you're perfect? But you're the 'brightest witch of our age'! It's part of the job description to be perfect, isn't it?"

She frowned, tilting her head. "No. I make mistakes all the time. And if you're telling the truth, this clearly shows that."

"I'm not lying," Malfoy repeated. "What reason would I have to lie?"

Hermione thought this over for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know. Crazy, right? Something I don't know?"

Her voice dripped in sarcasm, but it was enough to get a small half smile from the boy sitting across from her. He arched an eyebrow, grey eyes full of success and narcissism.

"So, you admit defeat, then?" he drawled. "You believe me?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I'm not sure if I believe you. You are a lying little ferret, after all."

"Well, I can prove that I'm not lying."

"Oh?" Hermione said, curiosity filling her. "And how can you do that?"

Malfoy sighed and turned in his seat. He shoved his hand deep into his robes pocket and after a long moment of rummaging, he removed it, holding a small bag.

"This is yours," he said, tossing the bag onto the table carelessly. Out of it spilled sugar quills and gummy wands, a few rolling over to Hermione unceremoniously. "You dropped it in the snow when you fell over the first time."

She blinked in confusion, picking up a sugary candy. Had she bought these at Hogsmeade? Thinking back on it, the girl felt that she could recall leaving the castle and going to Honeydukes, but the latter recollection was barely recognizable.

And what other reason would there be for her lapse in memory than being drunk?

Malfoy's eyes narrowed as they took in her confused and strained expression. "Do you really not remember _any_ of it?"

Hermione shook her head, a small frown on her face. "No. I can't remember a thing…"

She looked up at him, her face showing a perplexed expression. She studied him for a moment, not understanding why he'd helped her at all. Clearly, he was telling the truth. She wished he wasn't, but she couldn't deny that the evidence was overwhelming.

"Thank you," she said, looking down. "It probably would have been a good amount of time before someone else would've helped me."

Malfoy shrugged. "Whatever. I did owe you, so I guess we're even now."

Hermione let out a short laugh. "Oh, we aren't even!"

Malfoy glared at her. "And why not?"

"Because I saved your life!" Her eyes widened, surprised that he could possibly think of them as even. "I don't think we'll be 'even' for a while!"

Malfoy's nostrils flared slightly and his face turned red. "Listen here, Granger: I didn't have to help you, but I did, so I think it's fair to say—"

"I didn't have to help you, either," Hermione pointed out. "But I did. And I didn't act out of needing to repay a debt."

Malfoy clenched his jaw, clearly having been backed into a corner. He let out a puff of anger, looking down.

Hermione smiled, rolling her eyes. "But thank you, really. We're _close_ to being even, if it helps."

She laughed, seeing him looking up at her in her peripherals. He let out another exhalation of exasperation.

"Well, at least I didn't get drunk in front of half of the school."

Hermione groaned, laying her head on the table. "Ughhh, don't remind me! I can _not_ believe I did that! How could I be so _stupid?"_

"I'm not so surprised," Malfoy drawled. "It is _you_ we're talking about. It makes sense for you to have acted so irrationally."

Hermione's head snapped up at the comment. She opened her mouth to deliver a snappy retort when she caught his eye. In their silver depths, she saw self-satisfaction, dominance, and…was she seeing things? Or in his eyes, was there really…teasing playfulness?

Noticing this, the Gryffindor's expression of defense turned to one of good natured competition.

"Me?" she laughed. "If _I'm_ stupid, I'd like to see what you are!"

"Now that's easy," he sneered, leaning back. "I'm intelligent, flawless, and inhumanely dashing."

Hermione sat up, readying her argument. "I can disprove _all_ of those. Intelligent: sure, you're not bad, but my marks are higher than yours in every subject, and since we've already established that I haven't a brain in my head, how could you? Flawless: Malfoy, you are the most stuck up, ignorant, selfish prat I know. You make fun of others for fun. That's pretty flawed, in my opinion. And dashing? Ha! I've seen mandrakes with better looks and more charm than you!"

She leaned back, copying his posture. "I rest my case." A very Malfoy-ish smirk then crossed her features, giving him a run for his money.

His face had grown considerably red as she'd spoken, and he looked furious. Had it been any other situation, Hermione would have feared that he'd lash out. Even now, she was unsure of how he'd react.

But his response surprised her.

He gave the smallest of smirks and leaned forward. "At least I can handle my butterbeer."

Hermione spluttered, eyes widening. "I didn't mean to get drunk!"

"Well you did. Even third years can handle such a tame drink. I think you should go back to water, Granger."

The two sat in the deserted hall, glaring at each other for a good minute, neither willing to be the first to break eye contact. That showed weakness, inferiority, and they both wanted to come out on top.

But Hermione could handle it no longer. She let out a breath of amusement. Then a small chuckle. Then the tiniest of giggles, which grew into a full-blown laugh. She was laughing.

She was laughing at Malfoy's insults, which were aimed at her.

But she was laughing.

Shaking her head, she looked back up at him to see him wipe a small smile from his face, which was replaced with a scowl. This only made her smile wider.

"Well, you got me there, Malfoy," she laughed, rubbing at her eyes. "Still, though, at least I'm better than a mandrake."

"Maybe so," he conceded. "But not a beaver. Definitely not better than a beaver."

She grinned, starting to stand from the table. "That's just the teeth. And at least they aren't as bad as when you hexed them in fourth year."

Malfoy stood, too, leaving his half-eaten salad. "That was an improvement," he scoffed. "You should have kept them."

"And you should have stayed as a ferret," Hermione retorted as they walked from the Great Hall. "We all have our opinions, Malfoy."

They stood at the entrance, awkwardness suddenly covering the situation. What now?

"Well," Hermione managed. "I've got to go to the Gryffindor common room."

"Whatever," Malfoy scoffed. "I don't care. I'll see you in Potions, I guess."

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "See you."

A sudden sadness hung over her head as the two parted ways, each going in different directions. Oddly enough, Hermione had enjoyed her insult session with him. It had been slightly more friendly, less hurtful and hostile. It had been…enjoyable?

A thought occurred to Hermione before she could get too far away and she turned on her heel, calling Malfoy's name. He froze and turned after a moment, glaring at her in question.

"Yes?" he snapped, seeming to want to regain the "dignity" he had lost by talking to her.

Hermione didn't let this bother her. Instead, she said what she'd wanted to tell him.

"I'm glad you gave Hogsmeade another thought. It's sometimes worth it to give some things a second chance."

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 **3693 words. I think this is the longest so far now…**

 **Again, sorry for taking so long to update. But I was sick today, so I stayed home from school and was able to get ahead in writing the chapters! The next one is probably the one I've had the most fun with writing so far XD**

 **Please review, as always!**

 **Love you lots!**


	16. The Hand and the Hurt

**You guys are going to hate me for saying this, but this chapter was REALLY fun to write!**

 **Oh, and things get a bit more physical this chapter. Not…not in a…a good way or anything, b-but…still.**

 **Enjoy!**

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"It's sometimes worth it to give some things a second chance."

Granger's words reverberated around Draco's skull as he walked up the stairs, brows knit. It was as if she knew his exact predicament, the odd circumstance that he found himself in.

 _But she couldn't, could she? I mean, how would she be able to find out?_

Yes, there was so no way for her to have figured out that Draco had been given a second chance. He hadn't told anyone and to everyone else, they'd have no recollection of what really happened the first time through. It would seem like they were living through it normally, as if everything that was happening hadn't happened before.

But Draco knew that not everything that he was going through _had_ happened the first time. He'd never had to sit next to Granger in Potions. He'd never gotten in a fight with all of his "friends." He'd put Madam Rosmerta under the Imperius Curse. He'd been sure of his mission, hadn't thought for a moment that he shouldn't do it.

Of course, just because he knew he had to do it didn't mean he wanted to. Before, he'd started out with a certain enthusiasm that had fueled him, but the fire behind his actions had dwindled quickly and he'd been left with a smoking lump of reluctance and fear. Yet still, he'd known he'd had to do it.

Now…well, he wasn't so sure of what he was supposed to do.

He was thoroughly confused by the things that had been happening around him. For one, the conversation he'd had with Granger not five minutes ago was still simmering in his mind, and he didn't know what to make of it. She'd been almost _nice_ to him, not that she shouldn't have been after what he'd done to help her.

Still, though. Thinking back on it, Draco was surprised and confused further to realize that that had been the first relatively civil conversation they'd ever had. Yes, insults had been thrown as easily as spells in a duel, but the anger that had previously driven them from the twos' lips had diminished considerably. It had seemed as if it were an almost _friendly_ spat that they'd had.

But they hated each other. They weren't supposed to talk to each other like normal human beings. It wasn't right. Everything just seemed off.

And why had she been so tolerating of the almost benevolent turn in their conversation? They'd never had one before, so why was Granger okay with it? Was she really? Was _he?_

Draco just didn't know. Frowning, he realized that he hadn't had a real discussion with anyone in weeks. None of the Slytherins dared to come near him anymore, as rumors of his antagonistic independence had spread. They feared that he'd lash out at them for coming within twenty feet of him.

He had to admit that they were probably right, all things considered. He wasn't exactly on speaking terms with anyone in his house.

So was he _grateful,_ then, that Granger had approached him, had thrown words of any sort at him? Was _that_ why he'd talked to her at all, had spoken when spoken to?

Draco had a hunch. But he didn't like it, so he chose to ignore it.

 _No,_ he thought, scowling as he turned and made his way up yet another staircase. _No, never. I'd rather have no one to talk to than to have to settle for_ her.

But…would he rather have no one? Thinking over their conversation, Draco found that it had been entertaining, for lack of a better word. He'd had to stifle his laughter at her reactions, for he would never let the girl know he thought she'd been amusing for even half a second, but he'd definitely had more fun in those ten minutes than he'd had in the past month.

That was bad. She was a Gryffindor, a muggleborn, nonetheless. They despised each other, too. He knew that for a fact. He couldn't go around for even a moment and think of her as anything but a waste of space. She was worth less than the dirt he walked upon, was trash at his feet.

But the trash had talked to him despite their past quarrels and differences. Sure, maybe it had been a moment of hungover confusion that had influenced her decisions, but beneath her possibly still drunken mind was the same person, the same Granger.

 _So…what?_ Draco asked himself as he stepped off of the staircase and turned down a hall on the seventh floor. _What does that mean?_

 _Does she hate you?_

 _Was she really just curious about what happened?_

 _Of course she was, what else could it be?_

 _Maybe she doesn't hate me as much as I thought._

 _Stop being foolish, you both loathe each other._

 _Well, yes, but maybe not as much as I'd thought._

Draco shook his head. No, he was being stupid. That didn't make any sense. He knew they abhorred each other, he'd known it since first year. There had to be some other explanation for their oddly timed conversation, because he was certain that they hated each other.

She'd gotten into a fight with Pothead and the Weasel. She had no one else to talk to.

He was the only person for her to speak with. Everyone else was in Hogsmeade.

She really _was_ just confused about the previous day. She wanted to know what happened.

All of these elucidations ran through his head, but one more barged its way into his skull, forcing its presence to be known.

Maybe it was that Granger really wasn't as bad as he'd always thought. And she was willing to talk to Draco because she, unlike him, was mature and kind enough to overlook all the wrongs they'd done to each other to simply _try._

Try to have a civil conversation.

Try to understand what had happened.

Try to know why he'd helped her.

Try, maybe, to not hate him like the rest of the school now did.

Draco swallowed, an uneasy feeling filling him up. He knew he was right. Granger clearly wasn't as awful as he'd assumed. She'd talked to him. She'd teased him. She'd laughed at her own irrationality and idiocy.

She'd _thanked_ him. No, she'd thanked _him. Him._

Draco had never been one to show his thankfulness to others, even if they were more than deserving of it. Whenever he did thank someone, it was after a long, thought out inner battle with himself, weighing the pros and cons, the whys and why nots. So the fact that she hadn't been hesitant at all in thanking him confused him to no end.

 _This makes no sense,_ he thought as he scowled at himself. _I don't understand it._

Shaking his head, Draco sighed. This wasn't worth his time. It had just been a strange and very out of place conversation. Tomorrow morning, when they sat in Potions, they'd yell at and insult each other as normal. Things would be as they always were.

And any civility that they had managed to achieve would be gone.

 _…Yay?_

Draco pushed the thoughts from his mind. He couldn't think about this now, nor should he again. It didn't matter, and anyways, he'd reached his destination.

The Room of Requirement.

As he walked past the blank slab of wall in front of him, hands clasped behind him as he paced, he thought the words, "I need a place to complete my task." The words were clear, certain, though his mind was not. For he had no idea whether or not his mission would be performed at all.

After the large door appeared, Draco slipped inside of the room, checking first to see that no one was watching him. Seeing no one, he turned back to the inside of the room and gave the door a small push, walking away before he saw it close. But soon, it gave a small click and he knew he was alone in the enclosed space.

Dark columns of objects towered over him, leaning precariously above his head. They reached into the air, going infinitely higher as they attempted to reach the seemingly nonexistent ceiling, the ceiling that could not be seen. The room was shrouded in black, everything some shade of dark grey or brown. It had an eerie feeling to it, a feeling that made Draco think he was unwelcome.

A shiver swept through his body as he recalled the dreadful events that had been brought about from what he'd done in that exact room, before. A man had died. Terror had reigned over the school. Things had spiraled out of control.

And Draco himself had nearly been killed.

But he'd escaped. And now found himself having to carry out the task that had put him in his predicament in the first place.

 _God, what am I going to do?_

He swallowed and looked up as his feet reached where they'd travelled so often. They knew where they were going; they didn't need his eyes to know the way.

So there he stood, in front of the massive black cabinet that had brought so much horror to the world. No, that _would_ bring so much horror to the world. Technically, Draco realized, it hadn't done it yet. Not in this reality, at least.

He didn't know if it _would_ bring the identical fear and hysteria as before. He had to decide. He had to think. He had to choose a path, choose the path that would lead away from his ominous death.

 _And lead to someone else's,_ he reminded himself reluctantly.

But _he_ wouldn't die. That was his top priority: his life. He didn't want to be killed.

Draco let out a sigh, and the air was permeated with his inner turmoil and fear. The sound of his breath echoed through the room, bouncing off of the walls. It was the only noise heard, the only thing that filled Draco's ears. And it filled them with the reminder of a decision, a decision that _he_ had to make.

But oddly enough, something else came to his ears once the sound of his own confliction had ceased. It was the tiniest of noises, but in the silence of the room, it greatly resembled a clap of thunder.

Spinning on his heel, wand drawn, Draco turned to look for the source of the footstep. His eyes darted frantically, sure that he hadn't imagined the sound, but he could see nothing that could have made such a sound.

"Show yourself!" he barked, silver orbs filling with rage and a hint of fear. Anyone could be there, watching him silently, waiting to strike him down with a curse of their own.

But no such curse came. Instead, a person's form was revealed, blinking into exist seemingly out of nowhere. No sound was made as her identity was revealed; she simply appeared there, suspicion and anger on her face.

Yet out of surprise, Draco let out a gasp and shot a hex at her before seeing who she even was. The witch expected this, though, and was able to cast a shield between the two of them before any harm was done.

Finally seeing who she was, Draco's face turned into a scowl and he let out a groan of irritation. His wand remained constant, pointing at her threateningly.

"Granger?" he spat, eyes narrowing. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" she asked, ignoring his question as she glared back at him.

"That's none of your business!" Who did she think she was, asking him that? "Why are you here?"

"I followed you." There was no shame or embarrassment in her voice. Instead, she raised her head higher and looked proud of her snooping. She clearly didn't give a damn about what Draco thought of her interference.

Draco snarled. "How _dare_ you—"

"Have a suspicion that you were up to something, skulking around and looking over your shoulder every two feet?" Granger snapped, throwing as much venom into her voice as he had. "Yes, Malfoy, because why would _anyone_ be curious after seeing that? Especially since it's you."

"Why would me doing that make any difference?"

Granger let out a laugh, a short and cruel one. It was nothing like the laughter that had escaped her only twenty minutes earlier; this was harsh, angry, condescending.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's because you're a Slytherin, you insult everything that moves, and you've clearly been acting off lately. Anyone would be suspicious."

Draco's fists clenched. "You have no right to follow me! This is _my_ business, not yours!"

Granger shook her head, eyes wide and unbelieving. "Harry was right. You _are_ up to something! I didn't want to believe him, but you give me no other option!"

"Why should I care what you and Scarhead think? You're idiots, the both of you! Neither you nor he have the brain capacity to even begin to comprehend my situation!"

Granger's eyes flicked around the room as her hand tightened around her wand. "This room, it's in here, isn't it? Whatever it is you're up to?"

"Shut it!" he yelled, face turning red. "You shouldn't go prying about in matters that don't concern you, Granger!"

"And why not?" she hissed. "Clearly whatever you're doing is bad, or you wouldn't be so secretive about it!"

"I don't have to go broadcasting my day to day life to the whole school!" he snapped. This imbecile just didn't get it! "And I _certainly_ don't have to share it with the likes of you!"

Granger rolled her eyes. "I'm no idiot, Malfoy, I know that! But you're up to something, and I intend to find out what it is!"

"Oh, you _stupid_ girl!" he shouted. "You think you have to go around, knowing everyone's business, don't you? Just because you're little miss know-it-all. What, spent too much time showboating your brains to realize that you _don't_ know everything? Does not knowing this tiny bit of information infuriate you? You just _have_ to figure out the big mystery! Well open your eyes, you no good filth: I'm never going to tell you!"

Granger was enraged. Her eyes held a certain fire that could send anything and anyone up in flames. And because that fire was directed at him, along with her wand, Malfoy suddenly had a feeling that he may have crossed a line.

 _She wouldn't hex me, would she?! She's a prefect, she knows better!_

 _Why are you scared? You can take her!_

But he knew somewhere in his mind that he couldn't. She did know more spells than him, after all.

Yet the anger subsided from her eyes as she took a deep breath. She was working to calm herself, to convince herself to not do anything she might regret, though it was clear that she wanted to curse him to the moon and back.

"Malfoy, I don't want anyone to get hurt because of your actions," she said slowly. "You're up to something. Anyone can see that. And I don't think it will lead anywhere good."

He sniffed, a grimace spreading across his face. "Granger, don't try to understand things that don't concern you. You aren't involved in this in any way. I suggest you keep it that way, before you're forced into it."

She frowned slightly. "Forced into…I don't care if I'm 'forced into' anything! I just don't want you, or anyone, for that matter, to do something that could lead anywhere bad. No one deserves to be hurt because of someone else's actions."

Draco winced noticeably. She'd hit the nail on the head yet again, without even realizing it. But he recovered himself, eyes blazing.

"Get out," he muttered, voice dangerously low. He was done with having to deal with her right now.

Her eyes remained stony. "No, Malfoy. I want to know what's happening."

He lost it. "Get _out!"_ he screamed.

His wand hand lowered with a snap and he walked to her quickly, emanating rage. She was surprised that he had lowered his weapon, and fear was in her eyes as he grabbed her wand hand before she could do anything in defense. He shoved her away roughly, ignoring the guilt he felt as she fell to the ground. He continued to advance on her, and she scurried back on hands and feet, looking up at him with fright and anger.

He reached down and grabbed her, pulling her upwards and slamming her against a nearby cupboard. She let out a grunt of pain as her head collided with it, but her eyes darted to his own in defiance.

Draco glared down at her, one hand directly next to her head, the other holding her throat menacingly. He didn't squeeze it, just held it there in a tight grip, feeling a rush of power in the fact that he controlled her pain.

He stood there, pressing Granger against the cupboard with fury in his eyes. She refused to look away from him, eyes narrowed hatefully. A dash of fear was mixed in among the rage, but she hid it very well for her current situation. He could see the terror in the way she pressed herself away from him, though, forcing herself closer to the cupboard. But she was in his grasp, under his control, and he simply squashed her to the hard surface with his own body, trapping her.

He smirked as she struggled to swallow, feeling her warm throat under his large hand. She clenched her jaw, defiantly glaring up at him. He narrowed his eyes, the smirk falling from his face.

He leaned forward, his mouth hovering next to her ear. "You," he whispered lowly, his voice dripping with warning and hate, "will _never_ tell another soul of this. If you do, I will personally kill you. You are nothing. I can destroy you with a flick of my wand. Don't think even for a second that I will hesitate if anyone else ever finds out about this. You are worthless. You're rubbish. And you're a pathetic little _mudblood_ who's bitten of more than she can chew."

At the derogatory term, hurt flashed in Granger's eyes. Up until that point, she'd glowered at Draco resolutely, refusing to back away from his stare. But now she looked down, pain dominant in her brown gaze.

Confused, Draco let down his guard for half a second. Sensing the slight relaxation in the hand on her throat, Granger surged forwards, pushing the Slytherin from her body. She let out a gasp when she was free, her own small hand flying to her neck, replacing Draco's larger, rougher one. She massaged it for a moment before turning back to the boy that stood silently by, hands clenched.

"You stay away from me, Malfoy," she croaked out, hand still rubbing lightly at her now red skin. She took a step back from him, trembling slightly. "You stay away. I had thought that maybe you weren't as bad as I've always assumed, from what you did to help me and from what you said today. But I was wrong. You're worse than I ever could have imagined."

With that, she turned and fled, leaving nothing but the sound of her retreating footsteps. Then the echo of the door opening filled Draco's ears, soon replaced with the thud of it slamming shut.

Draco slumped to the floor, groaning. How could he have let her follow him? Why hadn't he been more cautious? If he'd just been warier, none of what had just happened would have even occurred!

And he wouldn't be feeling so overwhelmingly guilty.

He was a monster. He'd screamed at her, had thrown her against the wall in his fury. He was a good amount larger than her, too, and he often underestimated his own strength, so it had to have been even more painful than it had seemed. And it had seemed bad.

Draco had pressed her against the cabinet, had held her delicate neck harshly in his hand. He could've squeezed the life from her, could've left her dead. And when he'd realized this, what did he do?

He'd smirked. He'd loved the feeling of power, loved that she was at his mercy. He wanted her to beg for forgiveness, wanted her to cry out in pain from what he was doing.

He'd reveled in the agony she could've gone through. He'd used his size to his advantage and had completely overtaken her. She'd been powerless, and he'd liked it.

And then she'd admitted that she had begun to think differently of him and his previous inkling was confirmed. But he'd ruined it by slamming her into the cupboard, by grabbing her throat, by threatening her.

But he'd ruined it especially by calling her a mudblood. They'd both thought that Draco had moved past using the term, but he'd proven them both wrong.

He groaned again and his head fell into his hands. He was a monster. How could he have let his temper get to him so quickly? He'd just demolished any unhostile feelings the single person who had looked upon him with kindness had had, and it seemed that things were irreversible. She'd never forgive him for the things he'd done, the things he'd said.

Hell, Draco wasn't even sure if _he_ could forgive himself for what he'd done. Setting aside the fact that it was Granger, he'd acted horribly. And to someone who'd had sympathy for him.

Letting out a sigh, Draco got to his feet and walked away from the vanishing cabinet, head hanging with shame. He was an awful person. He was horrified at his actions. He couldn't believe that he'd just done all of that.

But as he left the Room of Requirement, he knew he had, that things were too real to be a fabricated invention of his tortured mind. Those things were real.

And he hated how bad he felt because of it.

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 **3682 words. I expected this chapter to be like 2000, so this is good!**

 **Honestly, though, let's be real: this chapter is hella dope. I mean really.**

 **Ok thanks for reading! As always, PLEASE REVIEW! I only got 2 reviews from last chapter, so please be sure to leave a few words on how you think the story is going!**

 **Love you lots!**


	17. Acquaintances

**Okay so I hope you guys don't think I rushed this chapter. I thought it was at a good pace but tell me what you think!**

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Draco sat with his head down. His back was arched, shoulders hunched forward where he rested by the Potions door. As normal, he was early to the class; he preferred the solitary loneliness of the empty corridor to the glaring stares he received in the Great Hall.

And this particular Monday morning, the Monday after the first Hogsmeade trip of the year, was a Monday in which Draco had both dreaded and anticipated the arrival of ever since the day before. For on this Monday morning, he would be apologizing to a girl who he sat next to.

It wasn't the first time he'd be apologizing to her, but this apology would be the first one he was entirely sure that he had to do. Before, when he'd treated her badly for rescuing him, half of him had tried to convince him to not say a word to the girl. That half had been sure in their selfish and stubborn ways.

But this time, he knew with the entirety of his being that he had been a right ass to Granger. There wasn't a single voice in his head that tried to sway his decision. No, this time, he'd be apologizing with all that he was.

Of course, that didn't mean that he liked the girl he was apologizing to. It just meant that he felt terrible for what he'd done. After all, he'd attacked her. He'd used his superior size against her and mercilessly hurt the girl. He would have done much worse to her, too, if she hadn't gotten herself out of the situation.

Draco hated himself. He knew that things would've escalated and turned out quite nastily had Granger not saved herself. He would've hurt her, hexed her, left her to bleed on the floor. And why would he have done these things? Because he had anger problems, was blinded by fury. He hadn't been thinking; he had just been driven mad with rage at the fact that she'd followed him to the Room of Requirement and had nearly spoiled his entire secret. And to deal with the issue he'd been faced with, Draco had let his anger out of its cage, setting the monster within on the poor, unsuspecting girl.

He felt terrible, lower than the ground he walked on. No one deserved to be on the receiving end of his short temper, for that was a position that everyone found horrid and utterly maiming at times. No one deserved it, not even Draco's long time enemy.

The girl he'd loathed for years, the girl he still loathed, all because she was Potter's friend, because she was muggleborn and smarter than him.

Yet…no, he couldn't _still_ hate her, could he? Did he? After all, she wasn't as bad as he'd thought. They'd had a civil conversation (though it had soon been overshadowed by their latest one) and they'd joked with each other. They'd teased, had begun to relax ever so slightly in each other's presence. Draco had even found her—was it possible?—somewhat entertaining.

But that was wrong. He couldn't think that, could he? He was a Malfoy and she was a muggleborn; there was no way that he could see her as anything other than filth. That was unheard of. Besides, one measly discussion wasn't important.

 _Granger…._ He hated that he didn't know what to think of her. A part of him sneered at the name, remembering their past conflicts and feeling that it was a necessity to continue their routine hatred. A different part disliked her, but couldn't help respecting her for her certain abilities. A third portion thought that he was missing something to her, that there was something beneath the nerdy, frizzy haired geek. And lastly, a part of him, the part that knew he missed having a friend, felt that she could be someone to talk to. It had already been proven that they could speak to each other without becoming murderers, something Draco hadn't thought possible. Did that mean that Granger wasn't as unbearable as he'd thought, that she was reasonable enough to carry a conversation?

To carry a conversation with _him?_ To keep it going, to listen to him, to lend an ear to what he was saying?

Was it possible for her to not hate him?

His ears suddenly perked up at the sound of two pairs of feet walking down the hall. Without looking up, Draco had a feeling that he knew who it was. They continued their way down the corridor, voices in a low whisper. A certain tension filled the air as they walked past him, going to stand on the other side of the hall.

Finally mustering the strength to look up, Draco was met with the sight of who he knew it would be: Granger and Potter.

Her face was downcast, her eyes shadowed and sad. Her face seemed a good bit paler than normal, and her hair had seemed to have lost its lively frizz. In a word, she looked dejected.

Seeming to sense Draco's eyes on her, Granger's brown ones flicked to his. As they connected, he felt a hand of complete guilt and horror grip his heart with its icy fingers, squeezing it mercilessly. In the girl's eyes, he saw a dash of anger, a pinch of fear, and an overwhelming amount of hurt. The emotion filled up her features, drowning her in pain.

She turned around before Draco could do anything more than blink and swallow in shame. She clenched her jaw visibly as she looked at Potter, clearly trying to hide her feelings. Her eyes flicked back over to the Slytherin boy for half a second before she shook herself slightly.

No. It wasn't possible for her to not hate him. That was clear.

And Draco couldn't blame her. He'd been terrible. He didn't deserve her forgiveness or her kindness. She _should_ keep hating him.

Draco rested his head in his hands, screwing his eyes shut. He was an awful human being.

It seemed to take both forever and a split second for the bell to ring, signaling the beginning of Potions. As the class filed into the stuffy classroom, Draco slumped into his seat, avoiding eye contact with his Gryffindor partner when she sat next to him.

Slughorn preached at them from the front of the class, talking over the sound of sniffs and scratching quills. The room was full of the scents of so many potion ingredients that the stench was visible, taking on a dirty green color. The lack of windows provided no light, so the room was cloaked in a suffocating layer of brown.

Draco wished he could be annoyed at the terrible environment that he was currently sitting in, but he couldn't be bothered enough to even notice. He could only feel the immense culpability that filled him up, could only hear the words he'd say.

Well, the words he'd say once he eventually manned up and stopped being so damn proud.

 _You idiot!_ he screamed at himself. _I realize that you and Granger may not be best friends, or even alliances in any way, but you need to say that you're sorry! Doesn't she deserve at least that? Who cares that she's a muggleborn or that you're a bloody Malfoy! Stop being so afraid and proud and just apologize, you git!_

He was right. He needed to get over himself, set aside his ego, and try to make things right. She wouldn't forgive him—how could she ever?—but she at least needed to know that he was sorry.

Draco let out a small breath, preparing himself to say something. He opened his mouth, about to speak, when she beat him to it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, head still down, eyes still clouded.

Draco choked out a confused and shocked cough. Wh- _what?!_

"I-what?" he asked, his own voice quiet.

"I'm sorry," Granger repeated, eyes flicking to his for half a second before returning to their shared desk. "I shouldn't have followed you yesterday. It was smallminded and stupid of me to do. You deserve your privacy and s-secrets, no matter how… _odd_ they seem." She chuckled slightly at the end.

She continued. "And I sh-shouldn't have said what I did before I left. You're not worse than I thought. Given, you'd have to be pretty horrendous to be worse than I imagined, but still. It wasn't true. I just…I don't know, I wasn't thinking I guess. Anyways, I'm sorry."

Draco was frowning. His eyes were wide. He stared at the girl beside him in incredulity. How…how could _she_ be apologizing?!

He shook his head in incomprehension. "I don't understand," he muttered, more to himself than Granger.

She thought he was addressing her. "I felt bad for…I don't know, _ruining_ things, I guess. I felt like we were okay yesterday morning, but then I—"

"You?" Draco spluttered, turning to face her head on. " _You_ ruined things? Granger, what are you _talking_ about?"

She turned to look at him, too. "I—I mean that—well, if I hadn't followed you or confronted you about anything, nothing bad would've happened."

Draco was completely astounded. She thought that it was all _her_ fault? She was blaming herself for how he'd reacted?

 _What…? How…?_

Draco let out a single laugh, a laugh of disbelief and awe. "Granger, you're an enigma, you know."

She frowned, tilting her head to the side just barely. "And why is that?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair, nodding slightly. "Because I'm a terrible human being."

This "explanation" did nothing to help her understand what he was saying. Her face just screwed up in deeper confusion and she opened her mouth to say something, but he kept talking.

"I overreacted. I screamed at you. And flung you to the floor. And slammed you against a bloody wardrobe. I threatened to kill you, for God's sake! I…I _could've_ killed you, probably would've severely hurt you had you not gotten yourself out in time. I'm an awful person. I let my rage take control of me. And I hurt you…

"But for some reason, some damn reason that I can't figure out, you're here apologizing to _me."_

Granger swallowed, looking down. As she did so, a stray lock of her hair that had been hanging past her ear fluttered away, revealing her neck. Draco stifled a gasp when he saw the faintest of imprints of fingers on her skin, tiny blue and purple bruises that spoke of what had happened the day before.

The girl noticed too late that he'd seen, and went to cover her neck up with the hood of her cloak.

"I did that," Draco groaned, covering his eyes with his palms in shame and regret. "All because of my damned temper. I…I'm incredibly sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I didn't mean it, I swear to it. I just…I can't control my anger sometimes and I just wish I could…."

He clenched his jaw, not able to finish. She hated him, he was sure of it. She wouldn't believe his words, not in a million years. He deserved her loathing, the hatred that she would throw his way. He had hurt her, the one person who had shown him any sort of kindness.

And here he was, showing his weaknesses to her. Draco didn't know why he was saying what he was, why he was opening up to the Gryffindor who would surely rebuke him for his actions and yell at him for his abuse. She wasn't listening to a word of what he was saying, wouldn't consider his apology to be sincere even for a moment.

At least, she shouldn't be. He deserved to be shunned and ostracized. He _was_ being sincere, but even the most genuine and heartfelt apology that he could muster shouldn't have been accepted, all because of what he'd done in the first place.

But, as Draco had said before, Granger was an enigma.

"It…It's okay, Malfoy," she whispered. "I get it, really, I do. I'm the same way sometimes. No one can really control that kind of thing."

There was a moment of brief hesitation before she put her hand on his shoulder. He was surprised at its presence at first, but relaxed after a moment. It was comforting for someone else to listen for a change, to show that they were there.

"I forgive you," she said quietly. "And I understand. Besides, they're just physical. Other wounds take longer to heal."

The last sentence triggered another memory from the day before in Draco's mind and he felt (yet another) rush of guilt. He sighed and buried his head deeper into his hands.

"And," he mumbled out. "I'm sorry about…about calling you 'mudblood.' That wasn't right and I was mad and not thinking straight. It just slipped out."

Granger laughed slightly. "Oh, that. I'm fine, really. I overreacted to that, honestly. By now, I'm used to it."

"Because of me," Draco countered. "It's my fault that you've gotten used to it. And I thought that I'd moved past using the word, but I guess not."

"You were mad," she said. "As you said, you weren't thinking straight. It's okay, honestly. I know you don't mean it anymore."

For the first time in an entire day, Malfoy smirked. It carried relief and bewilderment, a playful and cautious expression.

"Granger, you're crazy, you are."

She frowned, but a small smile tugged at her lips. "And why is that?"

"Because you're defending the person who threw you to the floor, choked you, and shouted at you from his own accusatory words. You're looking past what I did to you—the many, many wrongdoings accumulated over the years—to apologize, something I haven't done since day one of Hogwarts. And you're forgiving me for the horrible things I did. It's just…I don't understand you, Granger," he finished, shaking his head and smirking.

She smiled. "Well, I like to think of it in this way: if someone's done something to you so terribly wrong that you can't see yourself having moved past it in a year, then there's reason to think it over right now. If not, well, why prolong the forgiveness? That just takes away the good times you could be spending with the person."

A small crease played its way between Draco's eyebrows. He'd never thought of things in that way before.

"In other words…" She shrugged as she spoke. "Don't dwell on the irreversible things of the past. It's what you will do now that can redeem them."

 _Redemption…_ Draco thought. _All I need is a little redemption._

He nodded. "That makes sense, actually. Any way it is, though, thank you for being so understanding. I can't say that I've ever been so…accepting of things."

Granger shrugged again. "You're welcome. And I know I can definitely be a bit of a pushover sometimes because of how tolerant and patient I tend to be"—she shot a glance over at Potter and Weasel—"but I'd like to think that it's all for the good of things."

Draco's eyes narrowed as he looked at her two friends. Oh, how he wished he could tell her how little he thought of them, but he knew their civil discussion would only deteriorate into insanity if he did so. Instead, he shook his head and turned back to her.

He glanced at her good naturedly as he remembered her speech from a moment ago. "You said that you don't like to push back forgiving others because that means you get to spend less time being happy with them…is that why you're forgiving me?"

For the first time in his life, Draco saw the Gryffindor sixth year girl who he sat next to him blush. At this, he smirked, raising an eyebrow.

"W-well, I-I mean," she stuttered. "I d-don't think that any good would come of it if we hated each other. After all, we sit together in this class. If we refuse to talk because of one silly fight, we'll never get anything done in Potions and will inevitably fail."

"Oh, your worst nightmare!" he scoffed, rolling his eyes. He smirked at the expression of embarrassment and frustration on her face, mixed with humor.

"No, that's not it!" she huffed. "I just—I don't know, okay?!"

Draco scoffed and shook his head. Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind, reminding him of something terrible he'd done several weeks before.

"Oh, there's one more thing…." he coughed, rubbing his neck.

"Yes?"

"I, uhh…" he started, suddenly nervous that she'd revoke her forgiveness.

She frowned, but a small smile crossed her face. "What? What is it?"

Draco bit his lip. "I'm sorry for lighting you on fire."

He expected her to glare at him. He expected her to scowl at him and give him the cold shoulder. She'd scold him, telling him how cruel he'd been. She'd never say another kind word to him.

All of this, Draco expected.

Needless to say, he was not expecting her to laugh.

Draco blinked in surprise as he watched the girl throw her head back. She was holding her stomach as if it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard, not caring who heard or saw her.

"I—" Draco spluttered, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes in confusion. "Why is that funny?"

Granger wiped at her eye, sighing in content. "Oh, it's just that I'd never expect _you_ to apologize over that, not to mention even admit that you'd done it in the first place."

"Yeah…" he chuckled uneasily. "I, uh, I shouldn't have done that. It was—"

"Horrible? Inhumane? Needlessly harsh?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, all of that. But I'm sorry."

Granger snorted. "Well, you're forgiven. It's no big deal, really. Even though it stung like the dickens when it happened."

"I can imagine so."

Granger surveyed him for a moment before tilting her head. "Okay, let's make a deal, shall we?"

Draco's eyebrows raised. "A deal? I'm intrigued, Granger. What is it that you want from the oh so charming and cunning Draco Malfoy? As if I couldn't guess…."

She blushed even harder and gritted her teeth. "No, not that kind of deal! God, you're so…ugh!"

Draco laughed, throwing his head back as he did so. It was his first real laugh in front of Granger, but he couldn't hold it in. It was just so entertaining to watch her blush and stammer about so prudishly.

She seemed surprised at his sudden outburst of amusement, but shook herself from her stupor quickly.

"As I was saying," she continued, rolling her eyes, "I think we should make a mutual deal to not hate each other."

Malfoy frowned ever so slightly, considering her words. So she _didn't_ hate him, then?

"Meaning?" he inquired.

"Clearly, we aren't as bad as we each thought," she reasoned. "When you aren't ceaselessly insulting me, you can actually be somewhat endurable. So I propose that we stop acting like enemies, at least when we aren't around an audience, and act civil."

"Civil entailing what details?"

Granger rolled her eyes. "For starters, no name-calling."

"No, that one's a deal breaker," Draco tutted, smirking at her sigh. "I do rather enjoy a good swearing and insulting session, if you don't mind."

Her nose twitched ever so slightly. "Alright, then, a compromise: only friendly and joking name calling. But nothing cruel or hurtful!"

Draco nodded. "That's fair. Anything else?"

"Just no insults, mostly. Don't needlessly be mean or make fun of the other person. Oh, and refrain from talking rubbish about Harry and Ron if you can!"

Draco groaned, leaning back in his seat. "Ugh, but I hate them!" She shot him a look. "Fine, I'll _try."_

She smirked. "That's all I ask."

Draco sniffed, thinking things over. She didn't hate him. She'd apologized and forgiven him and helped him see logic about himself. And they were…what were they?

"So…" he said slowly. "Acquaintances?" He stuck out his hand, readying to shake.

The smallest of frowns crossed her face, but it was there so briefly that it could have all been a mistake, a trick of the light.

Then she smiled and shook his hand.

"Acquaintances."

The bell finally rang and the students began to pack up. As they did so, a question popped into Draco's mind.

"Oh, I forgot to ask: how exactly did you manage to follow me without detection yesterday?"

Granger didn't look up as she put the rest of her books away. "It was a disillusionment charm. Made me blend in with the background."

 _Hmm. Sounds useful._

"Well, you'll have to teach it to me sometime."

Draco's eyes must have been playing with him that day. He couldn't be seeing things right. But it almost seemed like a genuine smile was on Granger's face as she closed her bag, head still bent over, almost entirely obscured from view. He had to be seeing things.

"Yeah. Maybe."

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 **3499 words. Nice.**

 **I love this chapter! It's just so cute!**

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	18. Not Invincible

**Sorry it took so long, guys! Here it is, though, hope you enjoy!**

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Draco stalked along the third floor corridor, several books under one arm. He scowled at a few passing fourth years, who in turn glared back at him. He scoffed and kept moving forward, walking with the swagger of a cool kid.

 _Stupid Transfiguration essay,_ he snorted in his mind. _I see no reason for me to have to spend a Thursday night in the library looking up good for nothing spells._

And yet, that was what he was heading to do. McGonagall had given them until the following Friday to complete the paper, meaning that Draco had more than a week to complete it, but he knew that he needed to get a start on it now. After all, it was supposed to fill up thirty inches of parchment.

Turning a corner, Draco was surprised to see the headmaster standing by the entrance to the library, hands clasped behind his back. A small smile was on his face and he looked to be very content with simply standing.

At the sound of the boy's halting footsteps, Dumbledore turned to see him.

"Ah, Draco. Just the person I wanted to see."

The Slytherin, after a moment of hesitation, walked forward slowly. "Professor," he greeted.

"I wondered," the old man said. "if I might have a word with you. It shouldn't be long."

Draco clicked his tongue, ticked off that his essay would be put off even longer, but he couldn't refuse the headmaster. He nodded stiffly, following the man away from the library, headed towards his office.

 _Why does he need to see me? Does—does he know about my mission?!_

Draco swallowed, trying to shove down the rising panic that he felt. He couldn't know about it; there was no one who knew that would tell him.

 _But what else could he want? God, is he going to kick me out of the school?!_

Gulping harshly, Draco paused as Dumbledore cheerily stated the password ("sugar quills") and then followed the old man as he ascended the stairs. The headmaster didn't seem displeased at anything, but he had been known to hide his emotions quite well. It was impossible to tell.

 _No, I can't be kicked out! I still need to complete my task!...Or figure out what I'm going to do about it, at least._

As he sat across from the man, Draco decided on something. He was a Malfoy; he needed some sort of power in this situation. So he'd spill his secret and shock the headmaster into hearing him out.

Dumbledore sat on his thronelike chair, fingers pressed together. "Mr. Malfoy," he said. "Is there something you wish to tell me?"

Draco didn't let the question surprise him. Instead, he held his head high.

"Yes, Professor," he stated. "I've been assigned a task, a…deadly task. You see, I…."

Now that he was here, talking to the headmaster, it didn't seem like such an easy thing to do. He'd be admitting that he was attempting to kill the man, and no one, not even the level-headed person before him, could take that well.

But Dumbledore, ever the calm presence, just raised his eyebrows slightly, eyes holding a knowing glint within them.

"Does this task entail the death of someone?"

Draco looked down, frowning, and nodded.

The headmaster tilted his head. "My death?"

A moment of hesitation, then a nod.

Dumbledore leaned forward, a small smile on his lips despite the severity of the situation at hand. "Supposedly brought about by you?"

Draco looked up in shock, eyes wide. How could he know? No one would have told him, there was no way for him to figure out!

"How do you—"

"Know?" Dumbledore chuckled, shaking his head. "Mr. Malfoy, I have eyes and ears everywhere. Even in my old age, I don't miss much."

Draco swallowed. "Then surely…you know about…about the first time?"

The headmaster nodded, eyes twinkling. "Yes, indeed I do. Quite an interesting concept, it is. But I think it can teach a good lesson."

"Professor, I don't understand!" Draco huffed out, confused and surprised. He hadn't spoken to the man once; how was it that he could know about everything that was going on in his life? It was just preposterous!

"Oh, Draco," Dumbledore tutted. "You can't possibly think that _you're_ the only one who came back after that night?"

The Slytherin blinked in surprise, face screwing up in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"If my memory is as reliable as it sometimes is," he explained, "then I believe I'm correct when I say that _you_ took _my_ hand to come back. How would it work for only you to come back, then, if we _both_ were travelling through time?"

It clicked in his mind. "Wait…" Draco spluttered. "So you've already lived through it once, too, then? You already know what happened?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I do."

"Then what are you going to do about it? Surely you don't want it to happen again."

The old man was shaking his head, smiling as normal. "Oh, that's beside the point, Mr. Malfoy. My outcome will not differ so greatly any way it is; this is all for you."

"What?" Draco asked. "So you're saying you're going to die again? But you could stop it, why let it happen?"

He leaned back on his chair, surveying the teen in front of him. "The greater good. Martyrs do need to exist for the overall plan of action to be carried out to its full extent.

"And anyways," he chuckled, pulling back his sleeve to reveal a horribly black and withered hand. "The killing curse will only shorten my life by a month or two.

"Yet…" He held out the word as he lowered his sleeve, gaze slowly travelling to Draco's as his eyebrows rose. "We both know why we're here again in the first place. It's to extend your own life, not mine. I am simply a bump on the road that is your journey, a journey that will hopefully be lengthened."

Draco swallowed, clenching his jaw. He didn't know what to do, that was the thing. Should he even be here in the first place, talking to the headmaster?

"Sir, I…" He sighed. "I don't know what to do."

"You are wondering if you need to kill me, if you still need to let the Death Eaters into the castle."

Draco nodded.

Dumbledore tilted his head. "In the end, it is truly your decision, Draco. I can't tell you what you have to do. Again, it isn't a question of whether or not _I_ live. It's about whether or not you or another lives."

"So you're saying that if I let them into the castle, that could lead to the…the death of the person I 'care' about?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "Maybe. It could lead to it, or it could prevent it. We'll just have to wait and see how things turn out. Either way, it is that decision that will be the deciding factor.

"But let me warn you, young Malfoy," he whispered, leaning in suddenly, an intense and dark look on his face. "You have been given a second chance, something many do not get the luxury of having. Take heed, though, for this turn of events does not mean you're invincible. Do not go about like you are."

Draco frowned, fear shooting through him. So he _could_ still die. What if this was all for not and he ended up in the exact same position?

"But," he protested, fighting to keep down his rising terror, "you said I'd be saved."

"Oh, and you are," Dumbledore said. "Right now. And you almost definitely will be when things matter. It is nearly a one hundred percent chance that your life will be prolonged. I am simply saying that if someone were to shoot the killing curse directly into your heart, you wouldn't be able to live through it simply because you're special. You aren't invincible. Remember that. You still make your own choices."

With a wink, the headmaster dismissed the dumbfounded boy, turning to a book that was resting on his desk. Draco stood up from his desk, said his farewells, and departed, trying not to look frantic.

 _He's going to die._

 _And I still have to figure out what I'm going to do about that cabinet._

And _I'm not invincible._

 _What…what does that mean? I mean, I_ know _what it means, I'm not an idiot, but the whole point of this was for me to live!_

 _So…what?_

Draco scowled as he shook his head violently and burst from the stairs leading to the headmaster's office. He ran down the corridor leading to it, trying to rid his head of the worrisome thoughts.

 _Just…focus on something else. Get to the library and work on that paper. You can think about this later. Find something to distract yourself._

And that distraction came in the next two seconds. As Draco turned the corner, he ran straight into the form of his ex-best friend. Looking up, he scowled in hostility, taking a step back.

"Zabini!" he snarled. "Get out of my way!"

The dark-skinned boy narrowed his eyes, anger flashing in their depths. "I wasn't in your way, Malfoy. Maybe you should watch where you're going."

"You're just begging for a fight, aren't you?"

Zabini scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, sure, _I'm_ the one who wants a fight. I'm not the one who needs to prove himself useful or wanted."

Draco sneered. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Put two and two together." The Slytherin boy glared at him behind a face of smugness and hatred. "You're pathetic, Malfoy. Everyone knows it. And frankly, nothing you could do would make up for your pitiful existence."

"You better watch your mouth, Zabini," Draco threatened, taking a step closer.

His adversary simply laughed, shaking his head. "What is that, a threat? Cute, Malfoy, it really is."

Malfoy glowered at him. "Cute, is it? I doubt you'd be saying that once your own head is planted firmly up your—"

"Malfoy," Zabini sighed. "It's a good attempt, really, it is, but there's no way in the world that you will ever intimidate me again. It just makes you look even sadder when you try."

At Malfoy's enraged and somewhat confused expression, he continued. "I have backup. Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson: they'll all come to help me with the snap of my fingers. Do you like those odds? Four on one? Didn't think so.

"And you…well, you have no one. You'll always be alone. Your friends have deserted you. You're by yourself, Malfoy. There's nothing you'll be able to do in the long run if you get in a row with anyone because you'll have the lower hand. And you always will! This entire school despises you! There isn't a single person who would stand by you! Face it: you have no friends. You have no one. And no one would care if you dropped dead.

"So do us all a favor, Malfoy," Zabini drawled as he stalked away, being sure to hit the listening boy with his shoulder as he passed, "and _do_ drop dead. We'd be better off without you."

Malfoy stood in shock, rage and sadness filling him as he took in the boy's words.

 _He's right, you know._

 _No one_ would _care._

 _You're unaccompanied in this world._

 _You haven't a friend by your side._

 _You're completely alone._

Feeling crushed by the weight of his predicament, Draco sighed and hoisted his book bag over his shoulder. Never had he felt so depressed, so desolate. The entirety of his situation, of his isolation, was suffocating him.

He…he really _did_ have no friends.

And in a very un-Malfoy-ish way, he was saddened by the fact.

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 **1956 words. I think it works for the content.**

 **Again, sorry for taking so long to post this chapter! I still love you!**

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	19. Friends

**Here's the new chapter! It's SO CUTE! To me, it's the beginning of Dramione. I know, took long enough, but you can't rush these kinds of things. I feel like most Dramione authors do that enough.**

 **Anyways, enjoy! ;)**

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Trying to ignore what Zabini had said, Draco walked down the corridor, eyes downcast. He descended the stairs, one hand tracing the railing as the other clutched at his bookbag. His head was down, white blond hair falling over his face so that he wouldn't have to look at anyone.

He turned off of the stairs, heading down a sideways hall. He walked quickly, not wanting to run into anyone else he currently despised.

So anyone, really.

Draco finally reached the library and he didn't hesitate to push open the heavy doors and enter the dust filled room. He wound through the labyrinth of bookshelves, finally coming to rest at a table in the corner of the room. He couldn't say it was his usual table, for he never really went to the library other than what was necessary. He'd always done his homework in the common room with everyone else, but seeing how everyone now hated him, that wasn't exactly an option.

 _Everyone hates me._

The thought—no, fact—entered Draco's mind and he shook his head, trying to clear it of the worrisome notion. Now wasn't the time to get hung up on what everyone else thought of him. He was at the library for one reason and one reason alone: to do his damn Transfiguration essay.

He set his bookbag on the table and dug through it, pulling out his textbook, some parchment, and his ink and quill. Draco flipped through the book, finding the correct page, and dipped his quill into the ink. It hovered over the paper, a drop of black falling off of it and onto the previously clean sheet, soaking into the parchment.

Draco stared down at what was going to be his essay, but he couldn't bring himself to write a single word. The only mark on it was the singular drop of ink, which looked quite alone in the upper left corner of the paper. But the Slytherin teen couldn't find anything to accompany the dot, for there were no thoughts regarding Transfiguration in his mind that could be written down.

No, if he were to write a paper about what he was currently thinking, it would have _nothing_ to do with any of his classes.

 _You're pathetic._

 _You have no one._

 _You've fallen from glory, just like your father._

 _You're alone._

 _You have no one to talk to._

 _Face it, Draco: no one likes you. You are the object of everyone's loathing, the thing they turn their noses up at in disgust. You're below them in every way. You act like it's no big deal, but it is, and you know it._

 _You need a friend._

 _But you don't have one, and you never will._

Draco sighed and his head fell into his hands. His quill rolled away, leaving a small trail of ink on his parchment. At least the ink droplet now had company. Unlike him.

It was true. Everyone really _did_ despise him. He had no one to turn to, to talk to in his despair. He had no friends.

And it was true, he'd acted like it didn't bother him, but not even Draco could get by knowing he was entirely alone in the world. Everyone needed someone, and he had no one.

And the chances were that he would never have a friend to turn to again.

Draco sighed again, feeling crushed by the weight of his situation. His head fell to the desk and his hands clamped over the back of his neck, clenching and unclenching themselves into fists. His shoulders slumped forward as he let out a breath of misery.

 _Alone._

He was alone.

Yet while he was alone in the matter that he had no friends or companions, he was no longer alone in the isolated corner of the library. For as he sat there, sighing in melancholy and despair, the smallest of cautious footsteps alerted Draco to someone's presence.

His head shot up and his silver eyes connected with the shocked brown ones of his Potions partner. She stood behind a nearby bookshelf, hands resting daintily along the side of it. She peered out from behind it, looking at the lone boy sitting at the table. Her head was tilted slightly in her confusion at finding him in his current state, looking weak and vulnerable.

Granger walked out from behind the shelf, her own bookbag in tow. She approached him slowly, clearly unsure of whether her attendance would be rebuked or not. But she sat across from him when no threatening or biting words were thrown her way.

"Malfoy?" she said after a few moments of hesitation. "Are…are you okay?"

He sniffed and plastered his usual grimace on his face. "Do I _look_ okay to you, Granger?"

"No," she answered. "But that's why I'm asking. It's hard to tell with you, Malfoy."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Well, what does it matter to you?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Acquaintances, remember? And anyways, I'm used to seeing a proud, arrogant, smirking Malfoy. It seems wrong for you not to be looking so bigheaded."

He smirked at this, slightly amused. As much as Granger and he never seemed to see eye to eye, she was definitely correct in that he was a very prideful person.

But, Draco supposed, it had been his pride that had led to his current state of loneliness. If only he'd been less arrogant about his independence, then maybe he'd still have company.

He sighed again, running a hand through his hair. "It's nothing, Granger. Nothing that concerns you."

"Well," she countered, "just about nothing related to you has anything to do with me. But that doesn't mean you can't tell me about it."

He frowned, looking up at her from his hunched over position. "You want to know?"

She nodded after a moment. "Yes."

"Why?"

She smiled slightly. "Acquaintances, remember?"

Draco looked down, eyebrows knit. Yes, they _were_ "acquaintances"; hadn't they agreed on that just a few days before?

She was the only one he could talk to about his worries.

And as much as he hated that _she,_ a _Gryffindor,_ was the one he had to talk to about this, he wasn't going to let his pride get in the way again.

For the thousandth time that day, Draco sighed. "I…Everyone hates me. I mean, I know that I'm not the nicest person the world has ever seen, _clearly,_ but I've always had a few friends before. Now…I don't know, it's just that everyone's gone. I don't exactly know what Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, and Parkinson were, because 'friends' doesn't exactly explain it, but they were there."

Draco let out a breath again, looking at his hands. "And now, not just them, but _anyone_ I had before has left me. I've always had someone to talk to, but not anymore. I've messed up so much and so badly that no one will talk to me anymore. I just…I don't…I don't know what to do. I don't like that everyone hates me. As much as I try to make it seem that I'm fine with being entirely alone…a friend would be nice. But I don't have any of those anymore, if I ever did in the first place."

Draco looked away from Granger, not wanting to see the look on her face. She'd laugh at him for what he'd just said, would think him more pathetic than before for admitting his weaknesses.

Because that's not what Draco Malfoy did. He stayed prideful and never admitted his faults. He was right all the time, was perfect, and it was silly to even think he wasn't flawless.

But here he was, talking about his vulnerability in a very un-Malfoy-ish style. And it must be a bit of a shock to the Gryffindor girl.

Yet Granger didn't laugh at him harshly or mock him. "That's not true," she said quietly.

"What's not true?" he asked, still not looking up.

"That you have no friends."

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Please, Granger, enlighten me; who do I have? Can you think of a single person who doesn't hate me, who doesn't glare at me when they see me? Who you could honestly call my friend?"

Draco glowered at the floor, fuming at the fact that she had the temerity to say something so stupid. And after all he'd told her!

But he started as he felt her hand on his, and his silver eyes finally shot upwards. There she was, her small hand resting on his larger one lightly. He looked up from their hands and saw that her eyes were staring at him, sympathy and stubbornness mixed within their brown depths.

"Me," she said. "I don't hate you. I don't glare at you every single time I see you. You have me."

Draco blinked in surprise, frowning in confusion. Did she really not despise him still, after all of these years of ruthless torment and back and forth insulting?

"You think of me as your friend?"

Granger nodded, taking her hand off of his. It shocked Draco that when it was gone, he missed it. He knew he shouldn't want it to be back on his, but he couldn't bring himself to care about that tiny detail at the moment.

"Yes," she said, then laughed slightly. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't think of me as anything more than a dirty mudblood."

Draco smirked somewhat, but shook his head. "I don't think of you that way. I think of you as any other person, only…different because you're actually nice to me now, unlike everyone else."

Granger smiled and Draco looked away. Why was he feeling so at ease with her? Had they actually become something other than enemies?

"Wow," she laughed. "I never thought I'd see the day where Draco Malfoy would call me a normal person."

He tried to hide his smile. "Well, cherish the moment, Granger. It doesn't happen often."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, I know. I _have_ gone to school with you for the past five years."

"Likewise," Draco drawled, reverting back to his normal, confident persona, though he now threw in a certain playfulness to his arrogance. "And I know that you don't often physically harm people. Other than me in third year, of course."

Granger smiled. "You deserved that."

Draco waved away the comment. "Yes, but that's beside the point."

The two laughed, reassured that their uneasy friendship seemed to be starting off well. Draco was more relieved than he ever thought he could be, which confused him to no end, but he pushed aside the thought as Granger offered to help him with his Transfiguration essay, which she'd finished the day it was assigned, of course. He accepted, and the two sat in the corner of the library, working as the room slowly emptied itself of the other students, and they stayed and worked until Madam Pince finally kicked them out.

But Draco wasn't thinking about his Transfiguration essay as he parted ways with Granger, or the library, or even the harmful things Zabini had said. No, he was thinking of one thing, of one thought that was his solace in the pandemonium of his life:

He wasn't alone. Not anymore, at least.

He had a friend.

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 **1886 words. Lit.**

 **Okay, please be sure to review! I've barely been getting any lately and I REALLY LOVE REVIEWS! PLEASE REVIEW!**

 **Love you lots!**


	20. Five Reasons Why

**Here's the new chapter! A bit more cussing in this one, be warned ;)**

 **I love this chapter, though, it's so cute!**

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 _Damn cabinet._

Draco stalked from the seventh floor room, watching as the door disappeared behind him. Letting out a frustrated grunt, he turned away from it and prowled into the shadows of the castle.

The moon threw patterns on the teen's robes as he flitted through the corridors, shoulders swaying as he swaggered. He was still in a sour mood from the events that had occurred earlier in the day, and the conundrum of his task had cast no lighter shade on his temper.

For that day had been the first Quidditch match of the season. Slytherin verses Gryffindor, it had proven to be quite the show. But the team in green had lost, and even though Draco had been "sick" and hadn't been playing, he was still upset about it.

 _Stupid Weasley,_ he huffed, a few lines of "Weasley is our King" running through his mind. _Stupid Potter. Stupid Gryffindor._

Yes, Draco was angry indeed. The unsuccessful match coupled with the uncooperative cabinet had made his day turn out to be less than mediocre at best.

But, Draco figured as he turned down a hallway and heard a startling noise, his day couldn't possibly have been as bad as someone else's. For the sound of poorly stifled sobs reached his ears, and he had no doubt that the owner of the tears had had a terrible past few hours. Probably worse than his.

Curiosity overruled his sense of indifference and the Slytherin boy crept up to the door where the noises were coming from, pressing his ear to the cold, smooth wood. He frowned, trying to interpret the noises, trying to find out who the person crying could possibly be.

 _Why does it matter? You probably hate them and they probably hate you._

 _Even so, I have a feeling…_

 _…A feeling that I know those tones all too well…._

Sighing, with a sense that he may come to regret his decision, Draco pulled open the door, squinting into the poorly lit classroom. Rows upon rows of student desks greeted him, neatly arranged next to ceiling high windows. He saw a form, huddled by the large professor's desk at the front of the room, shaking violently with tears. They saw him before he could detect who it was, though, and turned with a gasp.

"M-Malfoy?"

 _I knew I recognized those tears._

"Granger?" he asked quietly, closing the door behind him and slowly walking into the room. The moon shone about him, and he could suddenly see every detail of the girl, outlined in the silver of the night. Grey tears streaked down her white face, and her pale hands tried to wipe them away beneath her midnight black hair. But the damage had been done, for Draco had already seen and heard of her distress.

"Granger?" he repeated, stepping closer to her. "What's wrong?"

She wiped at her eyes again, turning so that her back was to him. "N-nothing," she choked out. "I'm fine. It's nothing."

Draco let out a puff of air. "I wasn't born yesterday, Granger," he drawled, though it wasn't devoid of concern. "Something's clearly wrong."

"W-well," she stuttered. "It doesn't matter, then. Just…p-personal stuff."

Draco stayed quiet for a moment before responding. "You…you need someone to talk to about it?"

Granger laughed, a sad, humorless laugh, before turning to look at him with teary brown eyes. "You wouldn't care."

"I care now. That's why I'm offering."

"Well," she sniffed, "you'd think it stupid when you find out."

Draco smirked, sitting down on a nearby desk, facing her. He wasn't going anywhere. "Try me."

Granger hesitated, eyes clearly flicking to the door, before she sighed and sat on one of the desks at the front of the classroom. She scooted on it, fronting Draco but looking at her hands throughout it all.

"Fine," she whispered, another tear falling on her cheek. "But you'll find that I'm right when I say you'll think it silly.

"After the Quidditch match today, Gryffindor had a party. Everyone was reveling in the victory and congratulating the players, but no one was celebrated as much as Ronald. But we'd gotten into a bit of a row after the game because I thought Harry had put Felix Felicis in his pumpkin juice this morning and he didn't. Ron got offended because he thinks I thought he couldn't make all those saves on his own…never mind, the point is, I got back to the common room a bit after him, and…."

Granger bit her lip, looking down at her hands. A tear glided off of her nose and dropped onto her open palm. Draco didn't push her to continue.

"He…he was with Lavender. Snogging. As if…if I wasn't even…I didn't even mean anything to…."

Draco swallowed back pity at her words as she huddled her knees up against her, looking out the window. But he kept his mouth closed, clenching his jaw as he did so, saving his opinions for when she was done.

"I-I know I shouldn't assume th-things," she whispered, closing her eyes, long eyelashes spotted with water. "But, I don't know, I guess I just thought that we would always end up together. I thought…but apparently not," she sniffed, interrupting her own thought.

Draco waited a painstakingly long minute to give her time in case she wanted to say anything else, but when he figured that her story was entirely over, he let the overwhelming sense of sympathy and fury overtake him.

"How _dare_ he?!" he said lowly, grinding his teeth in fury. "That idiot really had the audacity to do all of that?"

Granger nodded, sniffing quietly. "Yes. And I'm sorry," she laughed, "that you have to deal with my 'drama' not even a week after becoming my…friend."

She seemed to hesitate on the last word, as if saying it would set Draco off and make him leave. But he didn't get mad or laugh at her, just became more enraged that Weasley had done what he did.

"Granger," Draco said, frowning. "The Weasel is a complete imbecile. No one with half a brain cell's worth of sense would go and pull something off like that. Especially on their friend!"

Granger looked away as he continued. "You aren't supposed to be so mindless of other people's feelings. Are you even sure that he's your friend at all through all of this?"

Granger's eyes snapped up to his in an instant. "I-I'm sure he is. He just has lapses in judgement sometimes."

"Lapses?" Draco puffed out, rolling his eyes. "The astounding thing about you is that you defend those who don't deserve it. Weasley is a pathetic bastard with less brains than a bag of rocks, yet you're trying to see his side."

"Well," Granger snapped, "I defended you, didn't I, even after all of these years of torment? I defended you even when you thought you didn't deserve someone to see your side."

"Yes, you did, but I still stand by the fact that I didn't deserve your generosity. Likewise, neither does Weasley."

Granger stayed quiet at this.

Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You like him. Clearly, because you admitted it, but also because you're defending him right now. Granger, you have to know that not everyone deserves such a luxury."

"I know," she nodded. "I do. And I am in no way ready to forgive him, much less talk to him, in the near future."

"Forgive him?!" Draco exclaimed, shocked. "How could you even be thinking about that?"

The Gryffindor girl blinked, looking at her hands. She let silence hang in the air for a moment before responding.

"It's what I do," she whispered. "I forgive people. I don't want to, not in this instance. Ron…He's…." She took a breath. "He's hurt me really badly and the vengeful part of my mind doesn't ever want to look at him again. But the peace-making side of my brain is always more dominant, and no matter what I think now…well, it won't matter in the long run. I'll forgive him."

Draco shook his head, sighing. "I still can't believe that you're even considering that right now."

"I shouldn't be. I know that.

"And…." She burst into sobs again, covering her face with her hands. "And…it's b-beside the p-point anyways! H-he still snogged her and left me a-and I…."

Her shoulders shook as her arms wrapped around her body, and the sight of her newly replenished tear streaked face sent a jolt through Draco's stomach. She looked so broken, so weak. Where was the proud, retorting muggleborn who was so keen to insult him back? Who was so competent at both school and handling her own issues?

 _Damn Weasley,_ his thoughts growled. _How could he do this? Force her to resort to such a state?_

Granger's eyes were looking at anything that wasn't the teen in front of her. "I thought I had everything worked out," she admitted. "I'm used to knowing about everything and knowing how things are going to work out. But this is…not what I expected. And it hurts."

Draco clenched his jaw again. "It blows, Granger, I know. But Weasley, well, he's an ass."

She stifled a small laugh. "Oh, he's not _that_ bad—"

"There you are, defending him again!" Draco smirked. "Don't defend that _ass,_ Granger."

"He's a right fowl git, I know that, but ass is a bit of a stretch—"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Do you need a list of reasons for why he _is_ an ass?"

Granger smiled. "Well, it might help."

"Firstly," Draco started, jumping right into it. "He takes you for granted. You help him with his assignments and he's nowhere near appreciative enough. It's as if your assistance is as common to him as his lack of knowledge.

"Which leads me to my second point," Draco smirked. "Weasley isn't as smart as the animal he's named after: a weasel. Definitely as low as one, but nowhere near as intelligent. Probably wouldn't even still be breathing if it weren't for you.

"Thirdly," he drawled, "the Weasel fights with you about everything. I swear, I think he's the bitchiest person I've ever met. Didn't he give you the silent treatment because you wouldn't assist him on an essay after he yelled at you for being overly helpful or something like that?" When she nodded, Draco scoffed. "Typical asshole move.

"Fourthly, he went and did _this_ to you! What friend goes and snogs up some bimbo when they were already in some sort of—what would you call it, a relationship? —with their best friend? And with Lavender, no less! That harlot's been with half the guys in this school. Just shows how little brains he has to fall for that.

"Convinced you yet?" Draco asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Granger just gave a watery laugh. "Well, almost."

"Good. Because I have one last reason." Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Granger, he isn't good enough for you. You're an intelligent, kind, awesome person who deserves someone equally as such. Him? He'd never live up to those expectations. It wouldn't work. Wouldn't you want to have stimulating and interesting conversations with someone? Could you _really_ do that with Weasel? You could do _so_ much better.

"He's an ass. He treats you like dirt—much like I used to, which I, again, apologize for—and he doesn't understand how great you are. He's harsh, and stupid, and underdeveloped—take that as you will." Granger snorted in laughter at that, but Draco kept on. "And he deserves whatever's coming his way. That most definitely doesn't include you. He could never deserve you."

Silence fell upon them. Draco swallowed, suddenly embarrassed that he'd said all that he did. They hadn't been friends for all that long, and here he was, talking her up like she was an angel. Had he crossed the line?

 _I'm just trying to make her feel better._

And make her feel better he did. For as her head tilted up towards his, there was a small, shaky smile on her face.

"Thanks, Malfoy," she said quietly. "Maybe he is a total ass."

Draco smiled. "Of course he is. How could there be any doubt?"

Granger shrugged. "I…I don't know."

Sensing her returning sadness, Draco frowned. "And Granger? Remember who you are. You're the girl who's faced more monsters than most have dreamed—or nightmared—about. You're the girl who doesn't take anything from anyone. You're the girl who punched me back in third year."

"…So what?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "So you don't back down. Weasel hits you, you hit him harder. You don't let him see your weakness. We Slytherins are used to putting on a mask, but I have a feeling you won't even have to. I know you won't let some stupid bastard get you down for long. You're better than him. And you know it."

Granger gave him a smile, seeming more sure of herself. With that look, Draco knew she'd be fine. She always was.

But that didn't quench the utter rage and hatred he felt at the thought of the redheaded ass. That idiot had hurt her, the singular friend that Draco had.

And Draco would be damned if he didn't get back at him for it.

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 **2216 words. I love this chapter XD**

 **I tried working on having mostly dialogue in this chapter. A good bit of the other chapters have been inner thoughts. Does it flow well?**

 **PLEASE review! I appreciate them more than you will ever know!**

 **Love you lots!**


	21. Sweet Payback

**Another Dramione chapter! Things are picking up!**

 **PLEASE REVIEW! I NEED THEM FOR MOTIVATION, GUYS!**

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Draco sniffed as he pulled his cloak tighter around him, shooting a glance out the window at the mid-December atmosphere. His shoes echoed around him and mixed with the sounds of the other students' footsteps. He was walking down the first floor corridor on the Wednesday after the first Quidditch match of the year, only four days after Granger had talked to him about the Weasel. And, to be quite frank, he was still fuming about the whole situation.

 _That bastard,_ he snarled in his head. _He'd best hope that he doesn't run into me anytime today, or I can't say I'll be able to refrain from hexing him into oblivion._

For Draco was furious at the redheaded buffoon. He'd hurt Granger, and that enraged the Slytherin teen. Many things could be said about the boy, most of them negative, perhaps, but one thing that was for sure was that he was incredibly protective of his friends. And when someone hurt one of them, Draco usually couldn't control his anger.

 _Not that I'd_ want _to right now, or anything._

That was definitely true. Hell, he _hoped_ that he ran across the smug faced weasel; he deserved to be taught a lesson, one that he wouldn't soon forget.

Because even after all he'd told the girl on Saturday, Granger was still hurt on that Monday morning in Potions class. She tried to talk to him with a happy lilt to her voice, but he saw right through it.

Weasley needed to be put in his place. And who better to do it than him, Draco?

And it seemed that fate was on his side on that Wednesday morning, as if it wanted him to get his revenge. For as Draco turned the corner, his eyes were met with the revolting sight of Weasley and Brown snogging profusely in an alcove. They were so close that their limbs were easily confused, and Draco fought the urge to retch at the grotesque scene of their twisted affection.

"Weasley!" he finally barked out, swallowing the bile in his throat.

It took a moment for the Gryffindors to unlatch themselves, and when they did, the boy glared at Draco.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I wanted to ask if your less than mediocre show of snogging had to be so public," he drawled. "Everyone already knows of your inexperience; you don't need to go flaunting it about."

Weasley's eyes narrowed and a scowl crossed his freckled face. "Shove off, ferret."

Draco scoffed. "Actually, I don't think I will 'shove off.' Not until you do."

Weasel finally fully turned away from his plaything to shoot his adversary a glare. "What's this about?"

"About?" Draco feigned stupidity. "This isn't 'about' anything other than your vile public display. And come on, Weasel, even _you_ must have some level of expectation. But settling for Brown…" He tutted. "Of course, I wouldn't expect more from _you."_

The Gryffindor's face grew as red as his hair. "Don't insult Lavender!"

A crowd was gathering, their attentions having been distracted by the raising voices. They gathered around the two boys, Lavender mixing among them so that she wouldn't have to actually do any of the fighting. But Draco ignored the people, just focused on the redheaded idiot.

"I'll do as I please, Weasel!" he snapped, looking him over with disgust. "And someone like you won't tell me not to.

"I'll admit, though," he continued, cocking an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you threw away Granger. Insufferable as she may be, she's still much better than this bimbo."

Yes, it sounded harsh towards the brunette bookworm, but he couldn't exactly go and outright defend her, could he? So he'd settle for horribly insulting her "competition".

Though he still didn't know why she was so caught up about Weasley.

His words had the desired effect, though, and the other teen's hands clenched into fists. "You leave Hermione out of this! And don't you dare say another word against Lavender! She's better than you'll ever be!"

Draco smirked at the endless possibilities of insults he could stem from that single sentence. "Oh, I think I'm pretty good, Weasel," he said with a harsh laugh. "Besides, I've heard from many people about Lavender. She's really not _that_ good. Don't get your hopes up."

Weasley's hand shot to his wand, and the two teens pointed their weapons, teeth grinding and eyes on fire with anger.

"Shut it!" the Gryffindor roared. "Shut it, you snake! Don't you say another word!"

"Or what?" Draco taunted. "You'll snog your little girlfriend again? Your easy girlfriend, mind you. Please don't, I just ate and I have no intention of losing my breakfast."

A shot of light sprang from Weasel's wand, but Draco saw it coming from a mile away and blocked it easily.

 _"Stupefy!"_ he shouted, smirking. Yes, this was _exactly_ what he wanted.

As the duel began, the watching students stepped backwards, giving them more room to fight; none of them wanted to get hit with a flying curse, after all.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ Weasel yelled.

 _"Brachiabindo!"_

 _"Confundo!"_

 _"Diffindo!"_

At the sound of a cry of pain, Draco smirked in victory. Weasel was clutching his arm, trying to stop the flow of bright red that was rushing past his fingers. His hand shook, and he glared up at Draco with malice.

"Weasley, I hope you know that—"

 _"Flipendo!"_

Caught off guard, Draco didn't have time to block the spell, and with a jolt, he was sent flipping through the air. He crashed to the ground at the far side of the hallway, a jolt of agony shooting through his left ankle as he landed on it wrong. He stood and tried to put weight on it, but even the smallest of touches to the ground sent him wincing in pain. He'd broken his ankle.

"Damn you, Weasley!" he hissed, raising his wand again. " _Furnunculus!"_

The Gryffindor was still huddled over, grabbing his bleeding arm, and so he didn't have enough wits about him to deflect the curse. He was hit straight on, and immediately broke out in large red and yellow boils. He flinched and stifled a whimper of pain as his flowing blood ran over the already stinging sores, only making his pain worse.

But he stood shakily and attacked the Slytherin yet again.

 _"Expelliarmus!"_ Draco's wand flew out of his grasp and Weasley grinned deviously. " _Incendio!"_

In an instant, Draco's robes burst into flames. The crowd gasped and stepped further back in horror and a pinch of humor. No one liked Draco Malfoy, after all.

Draco let out a yowl of surprise and fear and jumped backwards. He batted at his clothes, desperately trying to put the fire out, but it was fruitless. And without a wand, there was nothing to be done.

The red and orange tore at his clothes, encasing them in smoke and disintegrating them beneath their merciless claws. The heat covered Draco entirely, making him forget that anything other than the fiery depths of hell could even exist.

He dropped to his knees as the flames finally burnt through the top half of his clothes, and tears sprang to his eyes as the overwhelming extremity of the temperature licked at his body. It was worse than he ever could have imagined, for it felt like he was being skinned alive.

Draco let out a wordless howl as he rolled on the ground, hands slapping at the fire in vain. This was torture, pure torture, and he could handle it no longer.

 _Now I know how Granger felt._

He was being burned alive. And no one was there to help.

Until, after an eternity of pain, a teacher finally showed up. McGonagall let out a gasp of shock at the sight that greeted her, but her surprise only rendered her incapable for the smallest of moments.

" _Aguamenti!"_ she shouted, and the most cooling and refreshing feeling that Draco had ever experienced overflowed him. The flames went out as water rushed over him, and he lay on the floor, gasping and heaving with pain.

Everything ached. Everything hurt. He couldn't move a finger without letting out a screech of agony. He simply closed his eyes, tears pricking at them painfully, and struggled to fill his lungs with air.

He was distantly aware of being levitated into the air, but he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. He didn't want to see the cold and judging glares of the students that lined the walls as he was led away to the hospital wing.

So he just squeezed his eyes shut, holding back the tears of pain and agony.

. . . ….. . . .

Draco blinked his eyes open eventually, when he felt a bed beneath him. As he assumed, he was in the hospital wing, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes flicked to the left, where he saw McGonagall levitating Weasley onto another bed. Thankfully, she'd put them on exact opposite ends of the room.

She wasn't an idiot, after all.

Draco let out a moan of pain as he attempted to sit up, and he let his head flop back to the pillow in submission. To the best of his abilities, though, he tried to look at himself.

He winced at the sight of his body. The top half of his body's clothes had been burned off completely other than a few strands of his black cloak that were struggling to remain on his frame. His pants were still in one piece (thank God), but the bottom bits of them were definitely scorched beyond repair.

But what was worse was the state that he himself was in. Aside from his throbbing broken ankle, his chest, arms and parts of his legs had been horribly seared. Terrible black and bright red welts had popped up on his skin, leaving angry crimson marks across his previously pale form. Everything stung with the pain of a thousand knives; it was like his skin was being ripped away from him, leaving his body a sad, broken, bleeding lump.

Draco's chest heaved as he fought to take in a deep breath, and he only winced at the effort it took. His arm twitched and he fought to keep a cry of agony from escaping his lips.

 _Wow. I feel awfully bad for Granger, now. I never thought it could be this terrible._

As if the thought of the girl had summoned her, the brunette Gryffindor came rushing into the hospital wing, Potter in tow. Draco felt relief at the sight of her, and was shocked to see the worry and pain in her eyes as she took in his decrepit and broken-down self. Of course, it must be a shocker to see him in such a way. He looked awful.

But she didn't stop at his bed, just hurried past it and ran to the Weasel's side. Draco tried to stifle the hurt he felt at that, but it knocked him back full force.

 _I thought we were friends! She's supposed to visit me in the hospital, that's what friends do! Besides, I'm only here because I was sticking up for_ her.

But the sensible side of his mind chastised him.

 _You idiot, of_ course _she's still friends with you! But it's not like she can come rushing over to your bedside, crying her pretty little eyes out, if Potter and Weasley can both see it!_

Oh. That was true.

He shook his head slightly at his foolishness, dumbfounded at how stupid he could be sometimes. Of course Granger would visit him…or probably, at least. If she wasn't willing to do such a small thing, she wouldn't have been willing enough to admit that he wasn't the worst person in the world.

And as the minutes wore on and after Madam Pomfrey had effectively given him a potion, treated his burns with a paste, and wrapped the worst of his wounds in gauze, Granger continued to talk to Weasley. It seemed as if she was being excused from her earliest Wednesday class, along with Potter.

Draco noticed, however, that she spoke to him with a certain anger and disgust in the tones she used and the way her body was poised. As she clearly made a snappy retort to something he said, the Slytherin boy smirked in smugness; Weasley was getting his from the girl.

 _You show that ass, Granger. Make him pay for it._

She was hurt from and angry with Weasel, and she wasn't going to try to cover that up. It was a wonder that she'd shown up at all, in Draco's books, but he couldn't say he was really all that surprised. It was Granger, after all. She wasn't one to entirely ignore her friend of more than five years, even if she was constantly fighting with him at the moment.

But, of course, she was one to have her opinions of him be known. She disliked him greatly right now, anyone could see it. And she was letting him know it.

The brunette finally stood from where she'd sat next to Weasel, doing so in a stiff and angry manner. She said something stinging to him before she turned and stalked away, Potter next to her, leaving him to flinch at her words.

The two unhurt Gryffindors made their way towards the exit, Scarhead walking through the door as Weasel rolled over in his bed, looking away from Draco. The girl hung back, though, having one last thing to do. Looking around, Granger finally made her way towards Draco's bed, doing so hurriedly.

To his surprise, Draco found that he was both disappointed and relieved at the single word she said to him: "Tonight."

After a moment's hesitation, for he wanted to talk to her now, Draco nodded. She returned the gesture before turning on her heel and rushing out of the door after her dark-haired friend.

Draco sighed and adjusted himself on the bed, cringing in the slightest at the ache in his bones.

 _Tonight,_ he told himself. _Just wait for tonight._

. . . ….. . . .

And wait he did. He waited for months on end for his singular friend to show up. The shadows that were cast by the sun grew longer and longer as the ball of flames sunk lower in the sky, and they disappeared in all once there was no light left to create them. Instead, the wing was cast into darkness and after Pomfrey gave him his last medicines for the night, the only sounds to be heard were the snores from Weasley's side of the wing.

Right when he gave up hope, he heard the telltale sound of the large door of the wing being pried open. An involuntary smirk crossed his face, and a sense of relief flooded him.

 _Good. She actually came._

 _As if you really believed that she'd go back on her word._

 _True._

Light and fast footsteps made their way towards his bedside, and in a moment, Granger was there, kneeling next to him with a small smile on her face.

"Hey," she whispered, as to not wake the redhead at the other end of the hospital. "How are you feeling?"

"Well," he struggled out, for it was still hard to say or do much without pain, "you probably know _exactly_ how I feel. I know I already apologized, but I must do so again. I'm sorry for setting you on fire."

She let out a small chuckle. "It's fine. But I will say, it's almost nice that you got payback for it. _Almost,"_ she stressed as a mock pout crossed his face.

"Alright, I'll admit it," he scoffed. "I deserved it. But that doesn't make it hurt any less."

"I know," Granger said quietly, a look of empathy crossing her face. "And I'm sorry. It sucks a lot, there's no doubt about that."

There was silence for a moment before she took a deep breath. "But… _why_ exactly did you do it? Attack Ron, I mean?"

He frowned, clenching his jaw. Well, he did it for her, obviously; no one could hurt his only friend and get away with it unscathed. So what should he say?

He could always just tell her the truth. They were friends, what could be wrong with just telling her?

"He hurt you," Draco snarled. "That bastard made you cry. I'm furious at him for what he did and frankly, I don't regret it."

Another small smile crossed the girl's face, which was shadowed by the darkness of the night. "Thank you," she whispered. "But you really didn't have to."

"Oh, I know." He shrugged. "But you're my only friend. I don't want you to get hurt."

He realized what he said after he'd said it, and he swallowed in embarrassment as Granger's cheeks flushed slightly.

"Besides," he said in a slightly less serious tone as he tried to save face, "you'd be no use in Potions if all you do is mope about in class because of that idiot."

Granger laughed. "That's true. But I thought he was an ass, not an idiot."

"He's both. He's an idiotic ass."

Granger's eyes twinkled in the moonlight. "Do you have five reasons for why he's an idiot, too?"

Draco scoffed. "Oh, I most definitely can come up with at least five. Do you want me to list them?"

Granger shook her head, stifling a laugh. "No, no, I'm good!"

"You sure? Because if you aren't, don't hesitate to tell me—"

"I'm sure!" she said, rolling her eyes with a smile. "I know he's a right git—"

"Idiotic ass," Draco corrected.

"Right, an idiotic asshole," she amended. "I don't need even more reasons for it."

"Pity," Draco drawled, raising a hand to examine his fingernails nonchalantly, but he winced at the pain that shot through his body at the movement. This wasn't unnoticed by Granger, and she frowned.

"I still wish you hadn't done it," she said quietly, realizing again that Weasley was still in the room and that she couldn't wake him. "You got seriously injured. These wounds are no joke."

"I know," Draco managed out, looking down at his own exposed body. "But I'd do it again to hurt that bastard."

As his grey eyes looked at his injuries, so did Granger's brown ones. She only then seemed to realize that he was half naked and she blushed profusely at the sight of his chest. Or at least Draco _thought_ she blushed; it _was_ dark, after all.

Draco smirked as Granger averted her gaze from his exposed torso and cleared her throat awkwardly, blinking rapidly. He laughed even more as she saw him notice her stiffness, and her face turned a deeper shade of red in the darkness of the room.

"What?" Draco said, cocking an eyebrow. "Something wrong, Granger?"

"Nothing," she choked out, glaring at him in the eye as she clearly attempted to keep her eyes from wandering to his bare skin. "Nothing's wrong."

Hmm. This could be fun.

Draco leaned in closer to her, relishing the way she moved backwards in shock, clearly uncomfortable with the proximity of his uncovered chest. He quickened his breath in a way that made most girls melt, looking her straight in the eyes with his molten and intense grey orbs. He smirked again and tilted his head, feigning obliviousness.

"I don't know, Granger," he whispered. "It seems like something's...off with you."

"Nothing's wrong," she repeated, scratching at her neck for lack of a better thing to do.

Suddenly, the shadow of an idea flickered across her face and she smiled devilishly. She slowly leaned forward, too, stopping only when her face was about three inches away from his own. Her captivating brown eyes stared into his, mischief and stubbornness clear in their gaze. He could feel the heat radiating off of her, lapping against his bare chest, and he swallowed in dull surprise at her boldness.

 _Wow. I never would've taken Granger as one to play me at my own game._

"There's nothing wrong with _me,_ Malfoy," she whispered smoothly, slowly. "But what of you?"

Oh, he couldn't be shown up. Not by Granger of all people.

He moved closer, so that his mouth was hovering next to her ear. His breath touched it lightly in a provocative and tempting way, and he could sense her stiffening next to him. He smelled the delicate scent of her, wafting up towards his nose. The aroma tasted like honey and coconuts on his tongue and in his nose, with a pinch of rose.

Distantly, he realized that she smelled quite nice.

"Me?" He chuckled lowly. "I'm fine. I'm good. Actually, Granger," he growled in her ear, delivering the final blow. "I'm _always_ good, and in so many different ways. Wouldn't you like to know?"

The suggestiveness in his tone of voice was what made him win. She gasped slightly and moved back, a blush on her cheeks yet again. Draco laughed, falling back onto his bed. He smiled over at her, only laughing harder at the way she shook her head at him.

"Malfoy," she groaned, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Always the player."

"Oh, but that wasn't so bad yourself," he admitted, shooting her a playful glance. "Work at it and you could probably seduce any guy you wanted."

An unpleasant grimace crossed her face and she shook her head. "Ugh, no thank you. It was bad enough doing that to _you,_ just to try to do it better than you, beat you at your own game. Doing it for real would be enough to make me puke."

"Yes, well," he laughed, "don't feel bad that you aren't as skilled as me. It takes practice."

"Yes, and you must have years of that."

Draco shrugged. "I won't deny it. Don't go getting ideas, though, Granger; I just wanted to make you uncomfortable. Nothing more."

She snorted. "How could I go getting ideas? I was only doing it to make _you_ uncomfortable." She raised an eyebrow. "Did it work?"

Draco shook his head. "Not even slightly." Granger huffed in disappointment. "Ah, but again, I'm used to it. I'm practiced in not feeling awkward. Unlike you, clearly."

Granger nodded. "Yeah, true. I'm definitely not used to this sort of thing."

Draco smirked. "Well if you were uncomfortable, then it was all worth it for my task to have been completed."

Granger rolled her eyes as Draco laughed. "Whatever," she groaned. Her body language changed suddenly, and she became slightly more tense. "Look, I wanted to ask you something."

Draco's eyebrows raised in the slightest. "Alright, then. Shoot."

Granger sighed. "So Slughorn is hosting a Christmas party, one for the Slug Club."

Draco fought back a scowl. Oh, he remembered that party. On that night, he'd been at the Room of Requirement, but Filch had caught him on his way back to the Slytherin common room and taken him to Slughorn for punishment. He'd gotten off without any reprimand, but he'd had a severe talking to with Professor Snape. He in no way wanted to repeat that night.

But all he said was, "Right. I heard about that."

Granger bit her lip. "We are allowed to bring someone to it, and, well…I was wondering if you wanted to go with me. Strictly as friends, of course," she added hastily, so that there would be no room for miscommunications.

Draco blinked in surprise. She was inviting him to go with her? As friends, true, and thankfully of course, but nonetheless….

He shrugged, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Sure. I don't see why not."

Granger sagged with relief. "Oh, good. I don't know what I would've done if you said no."

Draco smiled. "Weasel isn't an option?" At her grimace, he laughed. "What an ass."

" _Such_ an ass," she agreed.

Draco frowned for a moment as he thought. "But…don't you think people are going to talk if they see us together?"

Granger waved away the comment. "Oh, don't worry. I'll put a disillusionment charm on you. No one will see."

He frowned again. "But then isn't that the same as going by yourself? If you look like you're alone, people are going to think that you are, and that you don't have a 'date' or whatever—"

"Well, yeah," she reasoned. "But I really don't care if I look pathetic and sad. I just want someone to talk to through it all. So what if no one else can see you? Let them think I'm alone. I really just want company."

Draco smiled after a moment. "Well…okay then. Sure. I'll go with you."

Granger grinned. "Good. I look forward to it. Though," she added with a snort of laughter, "I won't exactly be looking at _you_."

Draco shook his head. "That was a bad one, even for you."

"Yes, well," she said, "it's late. My mind isn't working as it usually does. But speaking of the time…" She looked at her watch. "I'd better go. I have classes in the morning, after all."

Draco nodded. "Alright, then. I'll see you later."

"Bye, Malfoy," she said as she stood, looking over her shoulder. "I'll visit tomorrow if I can."

"Well," he said, smirking. "I 'look forward to it'."

As she left, a final smile crossed his face as he closed his eyes, finally succumbing to sleep. Things were good. Maybe his second chance really _would_ turn out to be better than his first.

But as he fell asleep, his dreary mind seemed to overlook one detail, one major and ground shaking detail. The detail that went along with his second chance. The detail that doomed someone to death.

And because he overlooked this detail, he fell asleep with a smile on his face, forgetting for the time being that there was anything at all to worry about.

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 **4319 words. Longest yet XD**

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	22. The Git in the Punch Bowl

**Here's the new chapter! I love it so much XD And there's a lot of dialogue in it, too!**

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"So you know how to take it off when we're done?" Granger asked, flicking a lock of her brown hair behind her shoulder as she faced Draco.

He rolled his eyes. "We've been over this, Granger. I know how to end the disillusionment spell. Don't worry, it'll all be fine."

She sighed. "I know. I just don't want anything to go badly. So…" She cleared her throat and straightened, brushing herself off. "Ready?"

Draco smirked. "I'm always ready."

"Always cocky, is more like it." Granger smiled and tapped his head with her wand. Draco shivered as a cold sensation swept through him, from his head to his toes. It was like a mixture of freezing water and a cool breeze, like it was both liquid and gas. It was both unsettling and relaxing at the same time.

And then it was over. Blinking, Draco looked down at where his body should've been, only to see that nothing greeted his eyes. He was, simply put, invisible.

"Impressive, Granger," he admitted.

"Why always the tone of surprise?" she tutted, shaking her head.

"Ah, well, it's just hard to confess when someone other than myself does anything noteworthy."

Granger let out a puff. "Why am I not surprised?"

Draco smirked. "Because you can't deny the fact that I'm brilliant and amazing."

"Oh, I can _definitely_ deny that."

Rolling their eyes, the two students walked down the hall, finally silencing their chatter. If Granger was to walk into Slughorn's Christmas party talking to "herself", that would most obviously draw unwanted attention to the girl. And if Draco was going to successfully gain access to the festivity, then they'd have to blend in smoothly.

The sound of music and laughter guided them through the labyrinth of a school until they could finally see the bright lights that were streaming from the Potions master's room. Draco followed Granger into it, trying very hard not to snort at the brightness and innocence of it all. This was clearly not the sort of party that any self-respecting Slytherin would attend willingly.

Yet here he was, showing up to this gathering all for the joy of a Gryffindor. A Gryffindor whom he had hated not even a year ago. Oh, how things changed.

Granger made her way towards the edge of the room, where the punch bowl sat almost entirely forgotten, for most of the drinks were being paraded around by waiters. It was a somewhat secluded corner, away from prying eyes, and it was a great solace from the large crowds that were babbling on incessantly.

The brunette girl let out a breath as she halted. "Thank goodness," she breathed. "I thought for sure that someone would bump into you or something."

Draco smiled. "As shocking as it may be, I am competent on my feet, you know."

Hermione laughed. "Yes, that is a crazy thought to behold."

Draco sniffed, looking around. "Not as crazy as this party, though. Who decorated this, the old maid of the castle? And what's with this music? I feel like a thousand years old. That dimbo, Slughorn, really needs to find some brains."

Granger blinked, looking surprised. "Malfoy, was that really necessary?"

"What?"

"Insulting Slughorn for something as small as decorations and music?"

Draco shrugged, not that she could see it, or course. "I thought so. This all is an atrocity, after all."

She shook her head, sighing. "Well, I suppose you're kind of right, it does seem all a bit outdated. But it's very kind of him to have thrown a party at all."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "Why bother when it's this lame, though?"

"Oh, come on!" Granger urged, motioning to the rest of the room. "Look at it all! Stylish or not, this is quite impressive! I mean it must have taken hours to plan, not to mention all of the galleons spent. He clearly put a lot of thought into it. We should be appreciative. And it _is_ for us, after all."

Draco half smiled, eyebrows raising. "I suppose. Still, red and green is a bit cliché."

Granger rolled her eyes, groaning. "You're unbearable."

"Who's unbearable?"

Draco and Granger turned in surprise to see the form of Potter, frowning in confusion. Draco grit his teeth in annoyance. Of course Saint Potter would be here.

"N-no one!" Granger said after a moment of shocked silence. "I'm just… tired! Tired, that's all."

Potter's lips twitched upwards. "Apparently so, Hermione. Talking to yourself in exhaustion." He tutted, shaking his head. "Just don't go full-blown crazy on me. I don't know if I'd be able to survive the next month without you to help me."

Draco narrowed his eyes as Granger laughed. Obviously Pothead would be dead without her, yet he couldn't even seriously acknowledge this fact. What a tosser.

"Oh, I'll be fine!" she assured him, waving away his comment. "I always am."

"I know," Potter said. But his eyes soon grew soft and filled with worry. "How…how are you holding up after the whole Ron thing?"

Granger visibly stiffened at this, and Draco wished he could punch Scarhead in the face for bringing up the topic of the redheaded ass. How insensitive could he get?

Granger blinked after a moment, looking down. "I'm okay," she said. "It's been…hard, but I'm getting by."

"I'll talk to him," the black-haired boy immediately stated. "He needs to see how stupid he's been."

"You don't have to do anything," Hermione said quickly. "If he sees reason, it should be on his own accord."

Potter gave her a look. "We _are_ both talking about Ron, right? You know he can't do anything right on his own, as much as it pains me to say. I think he needs a bit of a push on this.

"In fact"—Potter laughed here, looking slightly guilty about it—"I hate to admit it, but he deserved what he got from Malfoy."

Draco blinked in surprise while Granger's eyes widened.

"What?!" Hermione gaped openly. "You really think so?"

"Oh yeah!" Pothead chuckled, nodding. "He's been a right git to you. Even if Malfoy was begging for a fight for no known reason at all, Ron deserved what he got from him. Who knew I'd ever be grateful to that little ferret."

Granger bit her lip as she smiled. "Don't let him know you're appreciative or he'll go around with a bigger head than he's already got." Her eyes darted to where Draco stood for half a second before returning to her fellow Gryffindor.

"Please, Hermione," he said. "Would I do that? Malfoy's too much to handle as it is. Thank God I don't have to actually communicate with him on a daily basis like you."

Draco felt a shot of fear run through his stomach as Granger swallowed. How did he know?

"L-like me?"

"Yeah," Potter scoffed. "Being his partner in Potions has got to be pure torture. I wouldn't be able to handle it."

Granger and Draco relaxed at this. They hadn't been found out. "Right," the girl managed, forcing a laugh. "Pure torture."

Pothead smiled, then looked behind his shoulder. "Well, I'd better get back to Luna. Don't want her talking the ear off of Neville about nargles in mistletoes or something."

Granger smiled. "Alright, Harry. I'll see you later."

She let out a huff of breath once he'd disappeared back into the crowd. Draco burst out laughing, bending over to rest his hands on his knees.

"Pure torture, am I?" he pressed, smiling. "Too much to handle, hmm?"

She groaned, but smiled all the same. "You know it. I don't know how I've survived this long."

"Must be those brains," Draco forced out through laughs. He finally stood straight again, working to compose himself. "They must be worth something."

"Oh, they're worth a lot," she admitted. "More than yours, at least."

He shrugged. "I'll settle for second best in our year."

Granger smirked, looking proud. "And I'll settle as the one person above you."

Draco scoffed. "Ugh, don't remind me. I'm almost tempted to try to do better than you, but seeing as I'd have to actually try to do that, I'd rather pass."

Granger let out a huff, cocking an eyebrow. "Not to mention that beating me is an impossible task."

Draco snorted. "And they say _I'm_ cocky."

Granger started to laugh but was cut off as she saw someone in the crowd. Her eyes grew wide and desperate. She cleared her throat slightly and her eyes darted to Draco for a moment.

"Speaking of cocky…." Her voice trailed off and Draco was left to narrow his eyes in confusion.

"What are you talking abou—"

"Granger!"

The confident and prideful voice was enough to make Draco internally groan. That idiot Gryffindor was in the Slug Club, wasn't he?

Granger forced a smile as the boy approached her, looking very self-assured in his button up shirt and expensive robes. "Good evening, McLaggen."

The boy rose an eyebrow and leaned against the punch bowl, forcing Draco to take several steps backward to avoid being stepped on. He bit his tongue before he could snap out an insult, reminding himself that he was invisible.

 _Don't ruin this._

Draco growled quietly and moved around McLaggen, instead standing on Granger's other side. He brushed her hand slightly so that she knew where he was, and she gave the tiniest of nods.

"'Good evening?'" The Gryffindor boy repeated her words, frowning in what he clearly thought was an attractive manner. "Why the formalities, Granger?"

She narrowed her eyes, taking a step backwards as he took a step towards her. "Why don't you ask _yourself_ that? You _did_ call me 'Granger,' after all."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, giving her another half smile. He obviously didn't notice her shudder of disgust at her name on his lips.

Draco, however did. And he could sense that this conversation was going to go nowhere good.

"Is there anything you needed?" she asked, clearly uncomfortable.

"Do I need a reason to talk to my favorite girl?"

Granger's nose twitched. "Firstly, I am not _yours._ Secondly, yes, you do need a reason."

Draco felt a swell of pride at her biting tone, pleased to see McLaggen blink in surprise at her hostility.

"Well, then," he drawled, his previously cocky and confident person arising again. "I wanted to tell you how fantastic you look tonight."

His eyes drifted lazily over Granger, eyebrows jumping slightly once or twice as he took her in. Granger's fists clenched at her side, and her eyes narrowed even more if it was possible.

Even in his state of growing fury, Draco had to admit that McLaggen had a point. The dress that Granger was wearing complimented her very well. It was a knee length, pale pink sweetheart neckline dress that went perfectly with her skin tone, and it made her look quite appealing, as much as Draco liked to deny this. When he'd first seen her, he'd had to rip his eyes away before she could notice his stare.

But clearly, McLaggen knew not of such rules of etiquette. For he made no such move to stop his gawking. And this was making Draco see red.

Granger cleared her throat again, snapping her fingers in front of his face. McLaggen looked up, a bored sort of surprise in his eyes.

"Thank you, McLaggen," Granger managed. "Now, if that is all, you can leave—"

"Oh, but Hermione," he continued, taking a step closer to her. "Wouldn't you prefer my company to standing here by yourself?"

Granger took a step back again, bringing her even closer to the wall behind her. "No, McLaggen, I'm fine on my own."

"I know you're fine," he said in a seductively low voice, eyes glinting as he reached for her wrist. "But I think we'd _both_ have more… _fun_ together."

Draco could take no more. In one step, he was behind McLaggen and seizing the bottom of his robes. He pulled upwards on them, throwing the mass of clothes over the Gryffindor's head so that his face was entirely lost among his apparel.

McLaggen let out a yowl of shock as Granger gasped, but Draco wasn't done yet. He smirked and promptly pulled the teen's pants down, exposing his boxers underneath. Then, not quite satisfied with his work, he gave McLaggen a rough push and sent him toppling into the punch bowl.

Granger watched all of this with wide eyes, but could hold her laughter back no longer when he crumpled to the floor, the empty bowl covering his head like a hat. She bent over, chest heaving as she fought for breath. The concealed Slytherin was amused too, but he made no noise for fear that he'd be discovered.

For the rest of the room's attention had been grabbed when the Gryffindor had crashed to the ground, a moist and humiliated pile of tangled robes. They watched, surprised and confused, as he struggled to his feet, pulling his pants up again and forcing his robes off of his face so that they fell normally once again.

"Alright!" he yelled, face red with anger and embarrassment. "Who did it?"

The watching crowd was silent. McLaggen gritted his teeth, about to yell again, when a voice, a voice so quiet that only he could hear it, whispered in his ear.

"Don't try that again, you bastard. _Petrificus Totalus!_ "

The last two words were shouted, and McLaggen fell to the floor, as stiff and unmoving as a plank of wood. The watching group gasped again, but no one moved towards the boy.

Draco smirked down at him, finally pleased with his work. He looked up at the room full of onlookers, rolling his eyes at their shock. Oh, was it _really_ so shocking that someone would use a disillusionment spell to sneak in?

 _Well, I don't see why anyone would want to._

Nonetheless, their slow minds would eventually figure it out, and when they did, Draco didn't want to be there. So shooting Granger one last look, he stalked from the room, being careful to not brush up against someone on accident.

She'd be mad. How could she not be? He'd hexed and humiliated one of her housemates. Sure, he'd had good reason to, and he'd do it again in a second, but she'd try to defend the stuck up bastard.

After all, she was the great defender of anyone who didn't deserve pity.

Draco sighed and stopped in a corridor several hallways away from the party. He sat against a wall, his back pressed against it, and removed the disillusionment spell, hardly noticing the warmth of it as it crept across his skin.

Draco waited, his arms resting on his bent knees, knowing she'd come eventually. And Granger did, not ten minutes later. She walked down the corridor, looking behind her shoulder as she did so. Yet they were alone, so she sat across from him, back pressed against the other wall as the silence stretched on.

He expected her chastising words to be what broke it, but they weren't. No, the noise that broke that deafening nothing was of a quiet origin. It started out as a silent smile, then an inaudible chuckle, eventually blossoming into a full out laugh.

Granger was laughing, harder than Draco had ever seen her do so. She was doubled over, clutching her stomach. Tears streamed from her eyes and she made to wipe them away, but the memory of McLaggen in the punch bowl prevented her from doing so very effectively. So she merely was content with howling on the floor, a very happily surprised Draco across from her.

He sat there, a cross between a relieved smile and a pleased smirk on his lips. At least he hadn't angered her.

She finally calmed down, flicking away a stray tear of humor. "That," she managed, "was quite possibly the funniest thing I've seen in a long time."

"So," he started cautiously, needing to hear for himself what he was assuming. "You aren't mad?"

She shrugged. "Not really. Should you have done it? No," she said as he nodded, shooting him a playful glare. "Am I glad you did it? Yes."

Draco's eyes narrowed and he scowled. "He was acting like a right wanker. I had to do something."

"Well," Granger smiled. "it's nice to know that you're protective enough of me to pants him and shove him into a punch bowl."

 _Protective? Am I protective?_ Draco blinked in surprise and realization. _Hmm. Who'd have thought that I'd ever be protective of Granger._

"He deserved it," Draco said, shrugging as he stood. "I would've done more, but I don't have any desire to go to Azkaban at such a young age."

Granger rolled her eyes as she accepted his hand and pulled herself to her feet. "Or at _any_ age, hopefully."

"Of course," he snorted. "Who'd want to go to Azkaban?"

Granger shoved him good-naturedly. "You, probably, if anyone ever did anything _really_ bad to me!"

Draco tilted his head to the side and smirked. "Ah, but I'd never let that happen."

Yet as they walked away, talking and laughing, Draco was unsure and unsettled. He had a feeling that what he'd said wasn't entirely true. He didn't know if he ever _would_ be able to stop it from happening.

But he shoved the thought away. No, it wasn't Granger, the person whom Dumbledore had been referring to. He was sure of it. How _could_ it be?

No. No way.

He refused to believe it.

And so he continued to walk, denying and ignoring the growing suspicion in his brain that refused to go away.

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 **2943 words. I love this chapter XD**

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	23. Pushing Away Doubts

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 **And sorry, but this chapter is a bit of a filler. Still good, though, I think. There's a flashback, so that's…fun, I guess…idk.**

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Hermione stepped into the almost empty Great Hall, yawning as her eyes rested on the dark-haired boy at the Gryffindor table. She made her way over to him, eyes still glazed over with exhaustion.

By the time she'd made it back to her dorm the night before, it'd been very late. Though Malfoy and she had left the party early, it was still very well into the night. Far past curfew of course, and she'd collapsed onto her bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

And now Hermione plopped herself down onto her seat at the long table, yawning again. Harry shot her a look, one eyebrow raised as he placed his spoon back into his cereal bowl.

"Late night?" he asked.

Hermione scratched her head. "Ugh, you _know_ I had a late night. Why ask?"

He shrugged. "Just wondering if you went back to the common room after running from the party so desperately."

Hermione huffed. "Well, I did. And I _still_ failed to get enough sleep."

Harry shook his head in a mockingly disappointed way. "The one thing you fail."

Hermione slapped his arm, but the effects were slightly damped by another large yawn. He laughed, fending her off easily.

"Anyways…" Harry started, frowning into his cereal bowl. "I was wondering…"

Hermione grabbed a piece of toast and looked at him when his sentence trailed off. "You were wondering…?"

"Who was with you last night?" He continued as Hermione blinked in surprise. "I know you weren't the one to do all of that to Cormac, you're way too nice. Not that that's a bad thing, of course! And also, well, that Petrificus Totalus _did_ come out of literally nowhere. And, I mean, the voice that yelled it was too low to be you, anyways.

"So…" he held out. "Who was it?"

Hermione opened her mouth, then looked down at her toast. "No one."

Harry frowned. Why wasn't she telling him? "Hermione, you know you can tell me anything."

"I know," she nodded, taking a bite of toast. "But I don't think you need to know."

"Why?" he said. "Why not? Why does it matter if I know or not?"

"It doesn't matter," she admitted.

"So why can't you tell me?"

Hermione smiled. This was playing out almost exactly like a certain fight they'd previously had, the one on the first night of the year. After Harry had shown up with a bloodied face and had refused to tell her why.

And if he was going to use her words against her, she'd use his against him.

"If it was important," she drawled, leaning closer, "I'd tell you."

Recollection flashed in Harry's bespectacled green eyes and he groaned, leaning back. He gave up.

"Anyways," he said as he brought his spoon to his mouth. "I wish you'd come with us over Christmas holidays. It'll be very lonely here."

"I know," Hermione sighed. "But I don't want to be anywhere near Ron right now."

Hermione had decided to stay at the castle over the two weeks of break that the students were allowed. She'd distract herself with long nights in the library and early mornings by the lake. Her parents would be off skiing, and she'd never really enjoyed the sport, so she'd be spending the days at Hogwarts. It'd be fun, she told herself. She never _had_ needed company to entertain herself.

And anyways, she could use the time to study and get ahead of her classmates. It never hurt to be prepared.

Plus, there was the whole Ron issue. They were still in a row and Hermione, very uncharacteristically of her, wasn't yet in a forgiving mood.

Maybe Malfoy was rubbing off on her too much.

"I'm sorry he's been so stupid for so long," Harry consoled, eyes dull with pity. "He's a right git."

 _An idiotic ass,_ Malfoy's voice corrected in Hermione's head, and she almost smiled.

But she just nodded. "It's fine, really. Maybe it just…I don't know…wasn't meant to…."

She sighed, shaking her head. "Whatever. It will work itself out in time if it is meant to. But I hope you all have a good Christmas as it is. I'll miss you."

Harry gave her a sad smile. "I'll miss you too. But I'll fill you in with everything as soon as I get back."

"And I you," Hermione said quietly as her friend stood across from her. "Send the Weasleys my love!"

After giving her one last hug, Harry left Hermione, off to get his luggage for the train. The girl sighed, taking another bite of her toast before discarding it on her plate. She wasn't hungry.

And anyways, she had other matters to tend to. Once she saw that Harry's presence was indeed missing, along with almost everyone else's, she stood from her seat at the Gryffindor table. She made her way across the hall, not hesitating as she sat across from a blond snake.

The Slytherin boy looked up at her from under his hair, silver orbs darting around the room.

"Granger," he muttered quietly, as if the completely empty room had ears. "Why are you—"

"Because we're alone, Malfoy," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Lighten up, would you?"

He snorted. "I'm sorry if I want to be a little precautious."

"Whatever." Hermione tossed a stray, unruly lock of brunette hair behind her shoulder, sniffing at its inability to comply. "Anyways, what are your plans for the holidays?"

Malfoy scoffed, plopping his spoon into his bowl. "Nothing. I'm staying here."

Hermione blinked. "Really? Me too."

He shot her a look, one of his blond eyebrows raised above his smirking yet amused face. "Oh, goody. Company."

Hermione smiled. "Ah, you joke, but I know you're grateful. No one wants to be alone for Christmas. But why are you staying?"

Malfoy seemed to stiffen slightly across from her and Hermione frowned as he started to talk.

"No reason, really," he drawled, shrugging the question and his previous hesitation off nonchalantly. "Mother said she didn't mind my staying, so I figured there was no reason to go back to the manor."

Hermione nodded, but she couldn't keep the suspicion and unease from entering her mind. He was lying to her, or at least keeping the entire truth from her. She knew this; it was obvious from how his cereal bowl had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world and how he was seemingly averse to meeting her eyes.

This had to have something to do with the Room of Requirement, right? The thing in it that he was working on or something? Hermione recalled that day in the room on the seventh floor, the day after Hogsmeade, when they'd gotten into a row and he'd shoved her against a wardrobe and choked her. When he'd threatened her and was going to harm her. When he'd called her worthless, when his hand had tightened threateningly over her throat, when the breath was being suffocated from her lungs—

 _Stop!_

Hermione blinked, trying to move the frightening images from her mind, but try as she might, she couldn't forget the hatred in his cold eyes and the feeling of his hot breath on her neck, which brought with it the words that reminded her of her "rightful" place in the wizarding world. This was Malfoy. The Malfoy she'd known since day one of first year.

And suddenly, doubt filled Hermione's mind. Had he really changed? Was he really not the same sneering, contemptuous boy she'd recognized him to be for so long? What was keeping him from hexing her right now, from laughing at her for her foolish beliefs, that he'd really changed at all?

Hermione's eyes flashed as she fought to keep the memory from slipping into her mind, but her attempts were fruitless. They were in the Room of Requirement, and he was glaring at her in fury and contempt.

 _Hermione's head slammed into the wardrobe as Malfoy threw her against the furniture, and she couldn't help but grunt in pain. She could feel a bump grow on the back of her skull, but she refused to acknowledge it, instead glaring up into the teen's eyes._

 _They stared back at her, a fire of intense loathing and rage leaping from their silver depths. His hand was pressing against her throat roughly, forcing her up, onto the tips of her toes. His other hand slammed next to her head, encasing her in a cage made purely out of his person and fury._

 _Truthfully, Hermione was terrified. Her wand lay discarded on the floor, and his was in his hand. She was powerless. He could do anything he wanted to her and she could do nothing to stop it._

 _A shot of fear swept through her as she realized this, and scenario after scenario of outcomes raced through her mind. He could beat her, injure her,_ kill _her, or…._

 _She shuddered at the thought._

 _She pressed away from him, wanting nothing more than to be as far from him as possible. But the boy sensed her movement and smirked, pressing his body closer to hers._

 _She wanted to scream, wanted to rip herself away from him. But there was no place to turn, for the hard wardrobe was at her back and Malfoy was on every other side of her. She had nowhere to go and there was nothing for her to do about it._

 _As the horror of the situation got to her, Hermione tried to swallow, but the Slytherin's large and rough hand was making that a very hard task. Breathing, even, was becoming difficult, and she fought for each breath, trying vehemently to hide her desperation and fright._

 _But through all of this, she refused to look away from his eyes, those silver eyes that held all of the torture and sadism in the world. She glared at him, trying very hard not to cower at the cruel pleasure she saw in them. He was enjoying this, very much, actually, and that scared Hermione._

 _She stiffened as Malfoy leaned closer to her and his body radiated a hot, sticky feeling that clung to her own in the most unpleasant way. She swallowed again, aching to get away, to run, to flee from his presence._

 _Her fists clenched as the teen's breath struck her ear, his face pressed against her hair as he growled lowly at her. "You," he whispered lowly, his voice dripping with warning and hate, "will never tell another soul of this. If you do, I will personally kill you. You are nothing. I can destroy you with the flick of my wand. Don't think even for a second that I will hesitate if anyone else ever finds out about this. You are worthless. You're rubbish. And you're a pathetic little_ mudblood _who's bitten of more than she can chew."_

Those words snapped Hermione out of her trance. She shook her head and her eyes cleared, breath coming quickly as she remembered her place. She was in the Great Hall, not the Room of Requirement. That had already happened. It was over.

 _No, he's changed,_ Hermione pleaded with herself. _He has. I would never become friends with him if I didn't know that._

But her mind fired back.

 _Then why are you having doubts now?_

She was stumped.

Hermione looked up at Malfoy, who was oblivious to her recent thoughts, instead looking bored into his cereal bowl as he chewed. He looked…the same as he always had. Sure of himself, with quite the superiority complex, and quite narcissistic.

But then, Hermione reasoned, he was nicer to her now. Things had changed. He wouldn't hurt her again. Hell, he'd hexed Ron and pushed Cormac into a punch bowl for her. He'd been set on fire for her, too. There was no overlooking that.

He'd comforted her. He'd made her laugh, had joked with her when she was feeling blue. Yes, at the beginning of the year, he'd acted as he always had, but things had changed. He was different.

Around her, at least. She knew she couldn't expect him to have completely changed, he had a very particular personality, after all. No one would ever completely change themselves just for one person.

And even if that one person did exist for Malfoy, it was obviously not her.

But anyways, that didn't matter. What mattered was that he was her friend, and she his. They would never treat each other so hostilely again, for there was no longer any reason to.

Of course, the memory of that day in the Room of Requirement was still enough to make her shudder in fear and disgust, but that was in the past. The past was irreversible and couldn't be changed, could it? So why dwell on it? The past had already happened, and now was the time to see what Malfoy could do to make up for it, to redeem himself. She knew he would. In time, anyways.

Did Hermione still have doubts and misgivings about him? Yes, of course she did. She wasn't sure if she'd ever fully get over her worries, too many things had happened in the past, after all, but her optimism and predisposition to see the good in others ruled out her pessimistic ways. She'd give him a chance.

Besides, everyone deserved a second chance.

. . . ….. . . .

Draco looked up from his cereal to see Granger staring at him with an odd expression on her face. There were the smallest hints of a frown, a guarded sort of caution and sympathy showing in her brown eyes. She didn't seem to see that Draco had noticed her gaze, even when he cocked an eyebrow in her direction.

"Granger?" he said, sneering slightly. "You there?"

She blinked after a moment and looked away, still frowning. But she soon shook herself and smiled, back to her normal self.

"Yes," she answered. "I'm here. I'm fine. Sorry, just…lost in thought."

Draco rolled his eyes, smirking. "As you usually are." He continued before she could retort. "So, anyone else you know of who's staying, too?"

Granger shook her head as she rested her elbows on the table. "No, actually. You're the first. You?"

"Same as you," he drawled, pushing his empty bowl away. "I can't recall a soul."

The Gryffindor girl sighed. "Well, I suppose it all makes sense, what with You-Know-Who and all. Most parents must be figuring that pulling their kids home for the holidays is safest. Completely insane, that notion is, of course." She scoffed. "Hogwarts is safer than their unprotected and easily reachable houses. They're mental to take them away."

Draco nodded dully as she talked, staring down at the table. That all made sense, obviously, but it didn't apply to his case even in the slightest. He wasn't staying at Hogwarts because his parents wanted him to stay safe from the Dark Lord. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was remaining to work on his mission.

Not that he could ever tell Granger that, of course.

The girl seemed to sense his discomfort at the subject. She cleared her throat in the slightest and leaned forward.

"Hey," she said. "Since everyone's left now, and the five or so others who are staying aren't around, would you mind going with me to Hogsmeade?"

Draco blinked. "Hogsmeade?"

Granger shrugged, a smile tugging at her lips. "I've got some Christmas shopping to finish."

Draco smirked. "Weird that you would choose to procrastinate _that_ instead of schoolwork like any normal student."

She rolled her eyes, but not without a smile on her face. "You're still jealous that I do better than you in school."

"Oh, I would never be jealous of you. I'm the great Draco Malfoy."

Granger laughed. "Yes, I'm fully aware. Now, would you mind getting off of your pretentious ass and accompanying me to Hogsmeade?"

Draco snorted. "I'd love to, but we _can't_ go. It isn't a Hogsmeade weekend. And besides, there's no way to get there."

Across from him, the teenage girl smirked, the look full of mischief and humor. "Oh, Malfoy. Why do you doubt me so?"

At his confusion, she sighed and stood, beckoning for him to follow her with her head. "Just…trust me. I have my ways."

* * *

 **2714\. meh.**

 **Again, sorry for the wait and sorry that this is kind of a filler chapter. Christmas is right around the corner, though!**

 **As always, PLEASE REVIEW!**

 **DON'T FORGET TO GO AND VOTE ON THE POLL ON MY PROFILE PAGE! ;)**

 **Love you lots!**


	24. Hogsmeade

***slow inhale of breath***

 ***slow exhale of breath***

 **Heeeyyyyyyyyyy guys…so, uh….how are you?**

 **I'M SORRY DON'T KILL ME I LOVE YOU AGHCGHHA I LOVE YOU PLS NO KILLING**

 **Legit tho. Sorry. I hate myself.**

 **But don't let that keep you from enjoying the (incredibly long overdue) chapter! XD**

* * *

Draco cocked an eyebrow as he followed the bushy haired Gryffindor through the now deserted corridors of Hogwarts. She looked over her shoulder at him for a moment before smiling and facing forward again, turning a corner and heading up a flight of stairs. This only made Draco frown in confusion more.

 _The bloody hell is she planning?_ he thought. _She wants to go to Hogsmeade apparently…so why exactly are we heading towards the third floor instead of going outside towards the actual path?_

"Um," Draco voiced, taking a few hurried steps forward to catch up with Granger. "I hope you don't mind my asking or anything, but why in Merlin's name are we heading this way?"

She shot him a look from the corner of her eye and gave a tiny smile. "Malfoy, you faithless boy, you will see."

He rolled his eyes as they turned to the left abruptly. "And so you keep telling me. But I've yet to even begin to understand what you're talking about."

Granger flipped her hair over her shoulder and looked behind her for a quick moment. "Patience is a virtue. You're simply learning a lesson from me right now."

Draco scoffed. "I think the only valuable lesson you're teaching me is how to control my fist when I feel like directing it at your face."

She shot him a look and he smirked. "Well," she said. "as long as you're learning, I guess I can't complain."

Draco shook his head as the pair turned one final corner and found themselves face to face with a statue. It was one the boy had passed many times during his time at Hogwarts, but he'd never really paid it any attention. Why should he have? And even now, staring at the one-eyed witch, he was confused on why he was doing so in the first place.

But Granger seemed to be very interested in the ugly hag.

Draco cleared his throat. "Uh, lovely? Amazing? Fantastic?" He turned to her. "I'm sorry, I really don't follow. Why are we here? You dragged me away from the Great Hall just to stare at this old statue?"

Granger rolled her eyes. "Malfoy, you must learn to trust in me and the seemingly stupid things I do sometimes."

With that, the sixth year girl pulled out her wand and tapped the hump of the statue. " _Dissendium,"_ she spoke clearly, head high as she surveyed the stone.

After a moment's pause, the hump of the statue began to move, or, more accurately, open. Within seconds, an opening was visible, large enough for a person to squeeze through. Peering into the hole, Draco was surprised to see a path leading deeper into the castle, heading into darkness, yet existing nonetheless.

Straightening up, Draco let out a long breath. He turned to meet Granger's overly smug face, which only broke into a more self-satisfied smile at his bewilderment.

"Do I seem stupid _now?_ " she asked, eyebrows raised above her shining brown eyes.

A pause. Then: "No," Draco mumbled.

Granger laughed, shaking her head. "Well, it's okay I suppose." She smiled. "I probably would've been confused too."

Draco watched as she stepped forward and awkwardly climbed into the hole; it really was tiny, after all. After a long moment of shuffling about, though, she was comfortably on the path and looked up, a question in her eyes as she stared at the blond haired Slytherin.

"Coming?" she asked.

Looking behind him for a moment, Draco felt unease fill him up. Him? Go down there? In the gross, old, dirty passageway? He wasn't particularly inclined to do so.

Ugh. But Granger wanted him to go with her.

Fine.

He nodded and hoisted himself into the opening, trying quite profusely to stifle any noises of disgust that rose in his throat.

 _Ridiculous,_ a voice in his head sneered. _Disgusting. Why am I even doing this?_

 _Because your friend wants you to._

When he was firmly on the pathway, the opening to the passage closing above his head, Draco turned to Granger and sighed. "Well. Here we are. I'm assuming this leads to Hogsmeade?"

Granger nodded, saying a quick _Lumos_ to light her way. "Yup. Leads out into Honeydukes' cellar. You ready?"

With one last shudder, Draco nodded and raised his own lit wand. The two headed off, plodding through the old and somewhat damp passageway. It was narrow, low, and twisted and turned more than any person could like. Several times, Draco had to stop himself from colliding face first into a sudden side wall as the pathway turned violently. He grunted once as his head banged the ceiling of the passageway, for it had a low top and he was getting up there in height, after all. Granger heard this and only snorted in amusement, earning herself a glare mixed with an expression of amused exasperation from the boy.

Finally, after ages of walking, the group began to slope upwards and the two students were met with stairs. They ascended them as fast as they could, for there seemed to be thousands upon thousands of steps for them to climb. But finally, they had reached the top to find themselves inches away from the ceiling of the passageway. It was dirty, with caked mud and old grasses hanging from it, yet what was clearly meant to be an opening was easily discernible among the grime of it all.

Shooting Draco a look that told him to keep quiet, Granger slowly began to lift at the trapdoor. It was agonizingly slow work, but she had to make sure that no one was currently in the cellar. If so, they'd be caught and be in a load of trouble.

Draco watched as Granger peeked through a tiny opening in the ground and sagged with relief. "No one's there," she whispered, thankfulness evident in her voice. "We should be clear to get out."

Opening the door the rest of the way, Granger hoisted herself out of the passageway as light flooded into in. Draco blinked several times to adjust to the sudden light, then looked up to see Granger's extended hand as his vision returned full force.

"Come on," she urged, still whispering. "Hurry."

Taking her hand, though he was sure he really didn't need it, Draco allowed himself to be pulled from the muck below him. He dusted himself off, fighting back a noise of disgust at what he'd just been through, then turned to follow Granger.

She walked up a small flight of stairs towards a singular door. Opening it hesitantly, she checked to see if the owner of the shop was around. Yet he clearly wasn't, and so the Gryffindor prefect beckoned Draco forward hurriedly as she slid into the shop and sped towards the front door.

A moment later, they were both outside, hand on knees as they panted in relief and surprise that their plan had worked so flawlessly. Granger let out a laugh, shaking her head, brown hair flying wildly in the winter air. There was light snowfall on the breeze, and flakes dotted their way into her hair as she smiled, eyes darting over to Draco.

"Well," she finally said, straightening up with a grin. "I think that worked quite well, don't you?"

"Oh I totally agree," he scoffed. "I just _love_ rolling around in filth for what feels like hours."

"It wasn't rolling," she amended. "And hey, it worked. We're in Hogsmeade. Come on, admit it, you're impressed that my plan went so flawlessly."

"Please, Granger," Draco drawled. "You've known me for five and a half years now. Do I seem like the sort of person who would openly admit something like that?"

Granger shrugged. "I suppose not. But I never thought you'd be the sort of person to sneak out of the castle with me in the first place, so you tend to be full of surprises. I never know what to think with you."

Draco blinked in slight surprise at the statement, but shoved away his thoughts as Granger continued. "Now, to do what I came here to do: Christmas shopping."

Her companion groaned. "Ugh, damnit Granger!"

She frowned. "What?"

Draco looked at her, silver eyes wide. "Promise me you won't act like some dumb teenage girl who obsesses over shopping and all."

She smiled. "You knew what you were getting into. But fine, I promise I won't be like any normal teenager. Besides, you know I'm not dumb, so how _could_ I act like any stupid girl?"

Draco shot her an "are you serious?" face. "Granger, your definition of dumb and mine are clearly very different."

She shoved him playfully and laughed. "Still besides the point. I promise to be fast, okay? It's not like it's for me. It's Christmas shopping."

"Alright," Draco sighed. "Fine. I have some of my own to do anyways, so I guess I really shouldn't be complaining. Should we just meet up here in…half an hour?"

Granger checked her watch, then nodded. "That's probably fine. I only have a few people to look for, after all. See you back here in thirty."

With a final glance, the two parted ways into their own separate shops. Draco swaggered his way into an older store, one with more expensive items. He already knew what he was going to get his mother: exactly what he did the first time, an antique set of leather bound books from the 1500s. His mother always _had_ loved to read.

As for what he was getting his father…well, what _could_ he get him? He was in Azkaban, after all. It'd be pointless to buy him anything. It would never even reach the prison.

With the books in his arms, Draco made his way to the front of the store to buy them, but something caught his eye.

 _Hmm…_ he thought. _They're small. Pretty, definitely, but small. Should I…? Well, it's not like she'd get_ me _anything, but…well, they're small. They'd be fine, I'm sure._

Picking up the last two items, Draco paid for the gifts before he could talk himself out of doing so.

With his bag in tow, the Slytherin boy stepped into the chilly December air, letting out a breath as he did so. He watched his visible exhalation as it floated away on the slight breeze, the falling snow swirling through it as the flakes descended to the already white ground.

Christmas was so close.

Draco turned along the road, readying himself to head to where he and Granger had said they'd meet when the half hour was up, but he froze at the sound of a voice calling his name.

"Draco!"

Oh no. No, this couldn't be happening. If she saw him and Granger….

"Draco, over here!"

What was she doing here?

Draco turned, smiling as he watched his mother walk over to him, a few of her own bags swinging behind her. "Hello mother."

The woman hugged her son as she reached him, closing her eyes as she sighed. "Thank goodness you're alright. I haven't seen you in months! How are you? How is everything?"

Draco smiled, thankful to see his mother despite the looming fact that Granger was close by. "I'm good, mother. I'm fine."

Suddenly, she seemed to realize something and she held him at arm's length, eyes narrowed in confusion. "Wait. What are you doing in Hogsmeade? How did you get here? This isn't a Hogsmeade weekend."

Draco swallowed. How did he respond to that?

 _Well, there's no harm in telling her the truth. Or at least_ part _of the truth._

"There's a secret passageway, mother," he said quietly. "Do you remember the statue of the one-eyed witch? It's really an opening to a pathway. It leads straight to the cellar of Honeydukes. I've never known about it before this year, but it's ingenious."

Draco's mother's eye had widened considerably while he spoke and she now stood gaping. "Really? A secret passageway? I never knew Hogwarts even had any. But how did you find it?"

Oh. Uh…. "Accident, actually." Draco shrugged as the lie rolled off his tongue effortlessly. "Just walking along one day and I saw it already open. Didn't take long for me to figure out where it headed or how it worked. I'm just glad I found it at all. It's incredible."

His mother smiled warmly and rubbed his arms. "It sounds like it, Draco. I'm glad you've been having a good year so far." She looked down, then around her to make sure no one else was around the two of them, before leaning forward and whispering in his ear. "How is it coming?"

Draco swallowed. He knew this was going to come up. "It's going…" How did he describe how it was going when he wasn't even sure if it was going at all? "It's…it's coming along."

Mrs. Malfoy looked into her son's eyes, searching. "So you're working on it?" Draco nodded. "Does it seem to be progressing much?" A pause, then a nod. Narcissa sighed in relief. "Do…do you think you can fix it?"

Draco nodded surely, trying to hide his own growing discomfort. "Mother, I know I can fix it." _I have once before. But that isn't the question in the matter anymore…._

But obviously, his mother couldn't read his mind, and so she simply sighed in relief. "That's my boy," she cooed, patting his cheek. "I'm so proud of you. Never forget that. You can do this, Draco, remember that.

"Now," she started, stepping back from her son and brushing off her black, floor length winter cloak. "I must be off. Lots of preparations to make for Christmas. I love you. Stay safe. Remember what I said."

With barely a backwards glance, Narcissa was off, walking down the road.

In the direction of the shop in which Granger was currently in.

Panic overtook Draco as he checked his watch. One minute until the half hour was up. If his mother saw Granger, she'd undoubtedly put two and two together, as both Granger and he were Hogwarts students and weren't allowed out of the castle. She'd know they came together. And she'd be furious.

As his mother passed the shop where Granger was, Draco rushed to the door quietly, so as not to let his mother know he was behind her. And he reached the door at the exact perfect moment, for his Gryffindor friend was just exiting the store.

"Oh, Malfoy, nice to see—"

His gloved hand quickly silenced her voice, along with muffling the small yowl of surprise that escaped her. Draco shoved her back into the store, slamming the door behind him.

He peered through the window of the door, praying to God that his mother had heard nothing. A cold hand of fear closed over his heart as he saw her form, turned towards the store with a look of confusion and slight recognition on her face.

 _No,_ he pleaded wordlessly. _Please, don't come over here._

"What was that about?" Granger questioned, anger showing in her brown eyes at being so roughly manhandled. "Malfoy, I—"

"Shhh!" he cut her off, panic evident in his eyes. "Just…look."

Granger peeked through the window with him, eyes widening as she saw his mother. "Oh." She swallowed and backed up. "That's not good."

"Please," Draco groaned, not taking his eyes from his mother as he pleaded to her. "Go away. Just leave."

The two waited with baited breath, hoping against hope that Mrs. Malfoy wouldn't investigate. The woman took a few steps towards the shop, eyes narrowed in confusion as she reached for the door. Instinctively, Draco and Granger cringed away from where she was, hardly ten feet away now.

But the woman seemed to get over her curiosity. Waving her hand, she found that she didn't care enough about what had happened to try and figure out what the noise she'd heard had been. She was a busy woman, after all; she had things that had to be done.

And so, to the overwhelming relief of the two huddled teenagers in the shop, she walked away, down the street and out of sight.

Draco let out a breath and sagged where he stood. "Thank Merlin."

Granger at the side of her face and nodded. "That was too close."

"I know," Draco agreed. "Let's get out of here."

The two students hurriedly rushed from the store, heading in the opposite direction from where Narcissa had just gone. On their way to Honeydukes, Granger convinced Draco to stop by The Three Broomsticks (she was thirsty, after all), and they picked up a butterbeer each. But then they were on their way, back to the candy store and sneaking into the passageway once again, bags and drinks in hand.

Away from the tension of the previous moment, they found that they could relax once again as they walked along the dirty old path. They joked and laughed, swigging at their beverages while doing so.

"You know," Draco snorted as he drank. "I remember the last time you had a butterbeer. Do you?"

Granger groaned. "Actually, I can't remember it. We've been over this. Several times, to be exact."

"Oh, I'm aware," Draco smugly said. "I just love reminding you about it. Do you think you can stand on your own two feet this time around, or will I need to carry you back to the castle again?"

Granger laughed and she smiled at him. "I don't think that's necessary. But it's nice to know that you'd be willing to help me if need be."

Draco tilted his butterbeer towards her. "Hey. Anything for the person who showed me how to sneak out of the castle."

Granger rolled her eyes and Draco gave a small chuckle at her embarrassment brought about by the recollection. But then a memory of that day, the day Granger had gotten drunk, came to his mind.

"Do you mind me asking, though…" he started. "Why were you, Weaselby, and Pothead in a fight in the first place? You know, during the last Hogsmeade trip at The Three Broomsticks?"

In the dim light of their wands in the tunnel, Granger narrowed her eyes, trying to recollect. "I can't be sure, but I think it started over this Potions book that Harry has. It's an old textbook, and it's got writing all over it. Little tips and all. The previous owner scratched out a lot of what was written in text and replaced it with their own notes. Harry's been following what _they_ wrote instead of what was written in the book in the first place and…it's been _working_ for him! I don't know how! It's crazy! And I don't trust it."

She sighed. "I've been trying to get him to ditch it, to turn it in. I don't have a good feeling about it. He needs to tell someone about it, or I feel like someone's going to get hurt. Someone I care about. I know nothing good is going to come of it."

Draco nodded, remembering how well Potter had done during sixth year with potions. _And to think, it was all because of that book. Huh. Makes sense, actually. There's no way he's actually smart enough to have done so well alone._

"He should listen to you," Draco drawled. "He doesn't know what he's talking about and clearly you do. Someone _is_ going to get hurt."

The statement took him back to the first time he'd lived through this year, nearer to the end. In a bathroom, dueling Potter while a ghost screeched at them to stop.

 _What was the spell he used? Sectrusempra or something…_ Draco shuddered. The pain from that spell was not something he wanted to think about ever again. _I'd never heard of it before. Do you think he might've gotten it from that book?_

Draco wished he could ask Granger, but there was no way for him to do so. She hadn't already lived through her sixth year once, so chances are that she wouldn't even know about the spell. And him asking about it would do nothing short of confuse her and make her suspicious of him.

So there was no point.

 _Damnit._

They finally reached Hogwarts again and clambered from the secret passageway, dusting themselves off as the door closed behind them.

"Well," Granger coughed. "Thanks for coming with me."

Draco nodded. "You're welcome. It was…interesting."

Granger grinned. "I'll see you around. I've got to go do some wrapping."

"Same."

They parted ways then, each heading to their respective common rooms and dorms. The gifts had to be wrapped and sent off, and soon, too, for the 25th was only a few days away.

As he descended the stairs, heading towards the dungeons, Draco couldn't keep what his mother had said from popping up in his mind. How he had to complete his mission. How it was vital. How he had to kill the headmaster.

He'd purposely been putting the task from his mind. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to have to deal with the turmoil going on in his mind. For that was one of the only words that could describe it: turmoil.

What was he supposed to do? The enigma for him was not _could_ he do it, but _would_ he. He thought back to what Dumbledore had told him, that he wasn't invincible, and that the choice of letting the Death Eaters into the castle would inevitably be what decided his fate. Simply put, by letting them in, he'd either be sentencing himself or someone else to death.

But he didn't know whether it'd be him or the other person until the day came.

Not to mention that if he didn't do it, there was always the chance that both he _and_ the person he cared about would be killed. That wasn't entirely out of the picture.

It was all chance, all luck. Maybe he'd be killed, maybe not. Of course, Dumbledore _had_ said that it was almost definite that he'd be the one to survive, yet the key word in the sentence was "almost." There was still a chance he'd be killed.

Still though.

It was "almost definite" that he'd live.

That wasn't bad. Draco would take those chances.

Yet…that also meant that the death of another's was "almost definite." That they'd be killed because of him. Someone he cared about would die, not at his hands, but _basically_ at his hands. It'd be his fault, wouldn't it?

Someone he cared about.

Draco had an inkling.

 _No!_ Draco screamed in his head, shaking it as he turned down the corridor that led to the Slytherin common room. _No, no no no no no. Not her. Not her._

 _But—_

 _No. It…it couldn't be her. No way, I refuse to believe it._

 _But…isn't she the only one it could be?_

Draco stopped walking.

 _"Someone I care about."_

 _That's not a lot of people._

 _Not even two, I think._

Draco let out a breath. No. No.

He shook his head and continued walking. No, he was wrong. It couldn't be her. It _couldn't_ be. Not after all she'd done for him. He couldn't accept that it was her.

And so he wouldn't.

It wasn't her, and that was a fact in his mind.

 _Besides,_ he reasoned as he stepped into the common room and flopped down onto the couch, trying to push away his worrisome thoughts. _Besides, it's not like it'd really matter anyways, right? As long as_ I'm _not dead, that's all that counts. I'll be fine._

He swallowed and closed his eyes. Yes, that was all that mattered.

Or, at least, that's what Draco desperately told himself.

* * *

 **3951 words. Pretty long XD**

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	25. Christmas Morning

**I actually love this chapter so much though. Like it's serious and then it's super cute at the end. I just can't XD**

 **And I loved the wording in part of this chapter so much that I just had to have 2 quotes…hope you like them as much as me! XD**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _"…they work together in a perfect sort of harmony, as if they couldn't exist without each other. It's almost like they_ need _each other for them to be here at all. There's something beautiful about it, that sort of dependence."_

 _~Hermione Granger_

 _"Most people just prefer to see what is apparent and not what is hidden beneath the surface."_

 _~Draco Malfoy_

* * *

Hermione sighed happily as she looked out the Gryffindor tower window, arms wrapped around her legs as she surveyed the falling snow. There was a certain beauty to the misty whiteness of it all, an awing aspect that most would miss on any normal day. And yet to Hermione, it seemed that no one could miss it on that day, the happiest and most joyous day of the year.

Christmas.

She looked over her presents, smiling at the thoughtfulness of the people she loved the most. She'd received a new potions book from Harry, five new quills from Ron, a sweater from Mrs. Weasley, a set of hair clips and brushes from Ginny, and a new robe from her parents. It wasn't as much as some would obtain on the holiday, but she was more than content with the load. Besides, it wasn't the things that one got from others that mattered, but the love intended in the gifts.

Yes, it was a very merry Christmas indeed, even if she couldn't be with her friends and family in person.

 _I do hope they are all having a good holiday,_ Hermione thought in slight melancholy. _I wish I could be with them, but…not yet._

The fact was that she was still very torn up about the entirety of the Ron situation. She'd been slightly surprised that she'd received anything from him at all. Yes, she'd gotten him something, but she hadn't exactly expected anything in return. He seemed to despise her in every way at the time. But, she supposed, he had to have enough sense in him to realize that even though they were in a quite lengthy quarrel at the moment, it would eventually end and they really were the best of friends.

 _Not even Ron could be so petty to forget the history of friendship we've had,_ Hermione thought with a chuckle.

But enough of him for now. In every sense of the word, he was an enigma.

Standing from her place by the window, Hermione brushed off her pajamas, went to get changed, and was out of Gryffindor Tower in a matter of minutes. The sound of her lonely footsteps echoed in the deserted castle hallways, a solitary song that was a melody to the girl's ears. Yes, she was alone here, and though at times it made her sad, she was never one to loathe seclusion.

But as she turned into the Great Hall and a grin spread across her face, she realized that her previous thought needed to be amended. Alone? No. Not in the long run.

Walking lightly to where the singular other person in the entire hall resided, Hermione grinned and raised her eyebrows. "Well, isn't it funny that you'd happen to be here this morning, too."

Malfoy just rolled his eyes at her words. "As if you didn't know I was here."

Hermione sat next to him, pulling a plate to her and loading it with bread pudding. "Ah, well, you could've left since the last time I saw you."

"I suppose," he snorted, a glimmer to his eyes nonetheless. "As it is, happy Christmas, Granger."

"Happy Christmas to you, too, Malfoy." She grinned, raising her goblet of pumpkin juice in a toast. The boy next to her did the same and they both took a sip.

Setting down their glasses, they continued their meal, their conversations echoing across the large dining room. They talked of what they'd both received, Hermione telling of her presents and Malfoy saying he'd gotten the newest model broomstick from his mother. They both wished they could've gone home for the holidays, but at least they had each other for company.

Hermione looked out the window, watching the snow as it continued to fall. She sighed, leaning her head on her hand as her brown eyes followed the specks of white in their descent. They danced happily, spinning and twirling around each other. Each flake seemed to have a partner, a partner that they never separated from, even when they met with the ground in a flurry of white and cold.

Turning from the window, Hermione saw Malfoy staring at her, one eyebrow cocked. "Having fun there?" he asked, only slight teasing evident in his voice.

She laughed. "Oh, shut it! I just think it's lovely."

Malfoy didn't seem to have anything to say to that, just a peculiar expression on his face. But after a moment, he seemed to come to his senses and shook himself back to the present.

He scoffed slightly. "Right. Always such a girl, Granger."

Hermione narrowed her eyes good-naturedly. "What do you even mean by that?"

"Just, I don't know, always getting emotional over everything."

The Gryffindor girl let out a _pff_ of exasperation. "Oh, well I'm sorry for seeing the light in everyday things that some—like you—overlook."

Malfoy shrugged. "I see it. I just don't feel the need to address it as much."

Hermione frowned and looked down. Something about the statement made her sad.

 _Look at you, proving him right and getting emotional about every little thing._

She looked up again, determined to (for once) overlook her thoughts. "Fine. But you're addressing this."

Malfoy frowned. "This what?"

Hermione gestured around her, pointing towards the window. "This day. Christmas day. The snow. The weather."

He crossed his arms, enticing silver eyes piercing into her own brown ones. "And why should I do that?"

Hermione smiled. "Because I'm making you."

Before he could do anything about it, Hermione had grabbed his arms and pulled him from his seat. After a small yelp of surprise, he followed her, albeit not without attempting to fend her off, even though he had no actual intentions of escaping.

"Ah, Granger," he snorted, rolling his eyes. "Always so stubborn."

She looked at him over her shoulder. "I just think you should have _some_ sort of appreciation for the world around us."

"Oh, I do!" Malfoy defended himself. "I just don't let it show."

Hermione shot him an amused look. "I don't believe you."

Malfoy cocked his head slightly. "Oh? And why not?"

Hermione grinned as they reached the entrance to the school, small fingers on the handle. "Because it's you."

She opened the door in a large motion and the two were met with a blast of cold. It wasn't windy out, but the temperature drop hit them like a slap to the face. Yet in only a moment, they were used to it and were able to step out into the wintery day with ease.

The air was surprisingly clear even with the plummeting snow. It wasn't falling heavily, nor was it barely falling at all. The amount of snow that was tumbling to the already-white ground was a moderate amount, enough so that you could appreciate it, but not so much that you felt suffocated.

Hermione looked at Malfoy as they walked, trying to bite back her arising smile as she took in the look on his face. He was clearly attempting to look indifferent to all that was around him, but not even he could be so unmoved by the beauty of the morning. On Christmas, such a perfect day already, it truly was amazing to be gifted with such a wonderful and overall awe-inspiring sight.

But would he let her see his astonishment willingly, without a fight?

Of course not.

"Delightful," Malfoy drawled, feigning nonchalance. "Now can we go back inside?"

Hermione barked out a small laugh. "What makes you think I'd _ever_ say yes to that question?"

He shrugged. "Hope, I suppose," he yawned as they plodded on towards the lake, passing by a line of white powdered bushes.

"Oh, don't even _try_ to lie," she laughed, spreading her arms out around her yet again. "You love all this! Who wouldn't? Just breathe it all in!"

Hermione closed her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nose. After a drawn-out moment, she exhaled slowly, her breath floating visibly on the slight breeze. Her nose, which was slightly pink from the low temperature, twitched ever so delicately as a snowflake fell on it, and the girl just smiled wider, her lashes fluttering on her closed lids.

"The air," she breathed, "the colors, the cold; they work together in a perfect sort of harmony, as if they couldn't exist without each other. It's almost like they _need_ each other for them to be here at all. There's something beautiful about it, that sort of dependence. Don't you think?"

Her eyes opened, connecting with his after a short moment. Malfoy stared back, eyes narrowed barely as he thought through all she'd said. Hermione was hardly able to keep back a laugh at the intensity in his gaze, as if he was truly pondering her words.

 _Good,_ she thought. _It's about time that he starts taking what I say seriously._

"I suppose you're right," he reasoned slowly. "And it definitely is a lesser appreciated aspect of winter, the complete harmony of it all. Most people just prefer to see what is apparent and not what is hidden beneath the surface."

Hemione smiled. "People like you?"

Malfoy shrugged. "People like me in a way, perhaps. Again, it's not that I don't see things like this. It's that I don't give any hint that I do."

The Gryffindor girl frowned, looking back at her friend through the slowly falling flakes. They were about ten feet apart in the snow, and while he seemed closed off to the world, all wrapped up in his winter coat, she had her arms free and her face open to the breeze. She believed what he said, that he could see the wonder in the day, and yet she wondered how he could say such a thing and still be so cold and distant to it all.

How coincidental.

"Why not?" Hermione questioned. "Why don't you give any hint that you understand things like this?"

He looked at the ground, kicking a pile of snow and watching as it dissipated in the air. "I don't know," he admitted. "Probably because I'm a Malfoy."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "And?"

"And," he stressed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Malfoys aren't supposed to let everyday things affect them. It's just not 'proper.'"

Hermione took a step closer to him. "Why not?"

Malfoy looked up. "History. Backstory. Tradition. We're cold and unfeeling and harsh. Strong, some call it. But strength is associated with awe in no way to my family."

"Some call it strength," Hermione repeated. "What of you?"

"What do _I_ call it?"

"Yeah," the girl said, her curiosity peaked. "You can't think of yourself as weak; I know you and I know that you'd never call yourself that. So what is it, then, if being strong isn't affiliated with being moved, and yet you yourself can see the astonishment in things?"

Malfoy sniffed and looked off towards the lake, continuing his walk towards the glassy surface of water after a moment of hesitation. Hermione followed, a few steps behind as she surveyed him.

Eventually, he sat by the shore, elbows on his knees as he sighed. Hermione sat too, enough distance between them to fit a hippogriff.

Silence.

It seemed to stretch into infinity.

Finally: "I'm not sure," Malfoy said quietly. "My family's definitions of some particular words tend to differ quite greatly from mine at times. If I had to assign a single word to replace 'strong' for what my family defines itself as, I'd have to say 'misguided.' We're strong for being unfeeling?" He scoffed. "No. We're misguided. All of us."

Hermione looked at him for the shortest of moments. His eyes were hard, staring forward in an almost indifferent way. His face looked blank of emotion, but the sixteen-year-old girl could see the thoughts swimming behind his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, watching as her words were carried away on the breeze. "I'm sorry that your family doesn't see things in the way you do."

He sighed. "Me too."

In complete honesty, Hermione was surprised at all that the boy had told her. Yes, they were friends, but he'd opened up quite a lot to her today. She knew that his family was a touchy subject with him, yet here they were, talking like civil and humane people. He'd confided in her, doing so without seeming to have any reservations, either. They were making real progress.

Call it a Christmas miracle.

After a while, the two stood from their seats by the lake, walking back towards the castle. There was a real lack of conversation, for both were lost in their thoughts, but they were content with the silence.

And yet the calm couldn't last long. Nothing ever lasted long.

Because within moments, Hermione had tripped on an uneven patch of ground beneath the snow and, with a yowl, crashed to the ground, throwing up powdery puffs of white in her descent.

Malfoy let out a laugh, arms over his stomach as the Gryffindor prefect sat up, huffing as a pile of snow fell from her now damp beanie. She just rolled her eyes at his amusement, splaying her legs out in the snow.

"Haha, very funny," she drawled, fighting to keep a small smile from her face. "Now help me up."

"Fine, fine," Malfoy finally managed, walking over to Hermione. He held out a hand, taking both of hers in his and easily pulling her to her feet.

She puffed out a breath as she brushed off her coat, shaking her head. "Thanks," she chuckled, giving him a smile.

They stood for a moment, looking at each other silently.

Then Malfoy promptly pushed her back into the snow.

"Malfoy!" Hermione exclaimed, mouth hanging open in utter betrayal. "How could you?"

But he was laughing too hard to respond. He was bent over, hands on knees as he wheezed, gasping for breath.

Hermione smiled slyly. _Fine, if that's how he wants it, that's how he's going to get it._

When Malfoy had composed himself enough to stand up straight, he turned to Hermione with a smile. What he was not expecting was a face full of snow right in the snout.

He reeled backwards as the girl laughed, rolling backwards on the ground. Wiping the white from his face, Malfoy's eyes narrowed and his lips turned upwards.

This was war.

Hermione continued to laugh, clutching at her stomach as she lay on her back. Oh, that was fun.

Wanting to catch the expression on his face again, she sat up, only to come face to face with the sight of her friend sprinting at her as fast as he could in the knee-high snow. Yelping, Hermione struggled to get to her feet, knowing that if she were to have any hope of surviving, she needed to flee.

But the snow was too deep, and before she was even halfway to standing, Malfoy was upon her. He scooped her up in his arms and the girl screamed, laughing through it all.

"No!" she shrieked, hitting at his arms in an attempt to get away. "Malfoy, don't you dare—"

But it was too late. The words had hardly left her mouth before the blond had tossed her into a snow drift. Gasping as her entire body was encased in white, Hermione tumbled downwards, shivering but not caring.

"Oh, I'm going to get you for that!" she shouted as she tried to stand, hobbling around awkwardly as she attempted to dislodge her legs and the rest of her body from the snow.

Malfoy sneered good naturedly. "Oh, are you? Now what are you going to do?"

She raised her eyebrows and laughed. "I'll show you!"

Hermione bent, making a snowball hurriedly. She chucked it at his head, barely missing.

He laughed. "Is that the best you can do?"

Hermione grinned, eyes glaring. "Oh, you of little faith."

In a flash, the witch had her wand out. The sight of this seemed to make a light bulb in the Slytherin's head turn on and his eyes went wide with realization.

In seconds, the boy was flat on his back, the imprints of tens of snowballs scattered across his chest. He breathed heavily, limbs struggling to raise his body from the ground.

But when he looked up, the menacing form of Hermione was above him, pointing her wand at his face while at least another fifty snowballs hovered in waiting behind her shoulder.

"Do you admit defeat?" she asked, a smug expression on her pink face.

Malfoy assessed the situation, desperately trying to think of a way out of his predicament. But there was no way for him to turn. He was utterly cornered.

He sighed. "Fine. You win."

At his words, Hermione jumped in the air, whooping in excitement and victory. "Ha! That'll teach you to not mess with a Gryffindor!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever. Just help me out here, would you?"

He extended his hand and she gladly took it, meaning to help him out of the snow. But instead, Malfoy grinned devilishly and pulled her down into the snow on top of him.

She yowled in surprise. "Damnit, Malfoy, I thought we were done with this!"

He smiled. "Clearly not. We're both down. Are we even, then?"

The girl gaped. "What? No, no! I clearly won that!"

"Well then," Malfoy slurred, shrugging. "I guess we'll just stay down here in the snow forever. I'm not letting you up until you admit that we're at a draw."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, you are _such_ a Slytherin."

"And I take pride in that."

She groaned. "Ugh, fine! We're even! Now can I get up?"

"Why, of course. I see no reason not to now."

Hermione stood, shaking her head in exasperation as she did so. "Slytherins."

Malfoy stood, a smirk on his face. "Gryffindors."

Finally at a ceasefire, the two made their way back towards the castle, shivering in their soaked clothing. Hermione glanced at Malfoy for a moment, glad to see that he seemed to be enjoying himself. Based off of what he'd said of his family, he must not have had a lot of truly joyous Christmases before.

Why not try to make this one even better.

"I was thinking," Hermione started.

"That's never good," Malfoy interrupted, smirking.

She rolled her eyes. "Would you let me finish?"

"You have my permission to proceed."

Hermione bit back a groan. "Anyways, I was thinking," she continued as the two reached the castle entrance. "Would you liked to have Christmas dinner with me tonight?"

Malfoy frowned as he opened the door, letting her go in first and then closing it behind them as he himself greeted the warmth of the school. "Christmas dinner? Hmm…" he pretended to ponder it for a moment. "Well, alright. I've got nothing else going on tonight."

Hermione smiled. "I know. So, if you'll just meet me—"

"Ah, ah, ah," Malfoy reprimanded, holding up a finger. "No."

"No what?"

"No," he repeated. "You had the idea for dinner, so _I'll_ be the one to plan it."

Hermione scoffed. "Now how does that make any sense?"

"It makes sense if you have any sense in you at all."

Oh, Malfoy. Always with the insults.

Well, there was no arguing with him. Once he had his mind set, there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise.

"Fine," Hermione agreed, amused albeit somewhat reluctant. "What's the plan, then?"

The boy thought for a moment before replying. "Just…meet me in front of the Room of Requirement at seven, tonight."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "That's all?"

Malfoy nodded. "Yup. I'll take care of the rest."

"Well," the girl sighed, eyes glimmering in laughter. "Seven it is."

Malfoy nodded. "Until tonight."

The two turned away from each other, off to their separate dorms, but Malfoy seemed to remember something at the last moment. "Oh, and Granger?"

She turned back to him. "Yes?"

He smirked. "Wear something nice."

* * *

 **Author's Note Thing**

 **3333 words. I'm SO satisfied with that!**

 **I was gonna have this chapter and the next chapter be one chapter, but this one ended up being WAY longer than I intended, so I split them up.**

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	26. Red and Green

**Guys. I have gotten 1383 views since I last updated. You want to know how many reviews I got?**

 **3\. THREE. FJNBKJLDSNBKJSENRLIBGAELJKGNSELKF**

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* * *

He checked his watch.

6:56.

Four minutes at the most until she got here.

Draco let out a long breath, bouncing on his heels as he did so. His silver eyes glanced around as he waited on the seventh-floor corridor, completely alone in the almost entirely uninhabited school. The snow that had been falling earlier that day had finally ceased its seemingly incessant downpour and the Hogwarts grounds now remained a sparkling white blanket of beauty. Not that he'd ever admit it, but Draco found it to be quite breathtaking.

So there he was, standing patiently on Christmas night, waiting on the one person he could call his friend. The food was prepared, the Room of Requirement was ready, and Draco himself was dressed to perfection. For he was outfitted in only the finest of his dress robes, he was clean shaven, and was so immaculately flawless that he shone.

Yet even though he was what one might call an incredibly attractive sight, he was nervous. Why? He wasn't even sure. This _definitely_ wasn't a date, and Draco _definitely_ didn't think of the girl he was meeting as anything other than just a friend.

He imagined what it would be like to think of her in any other way.

For some reason, this only made him more nervous.

He checked his watch again to distract himself.

6:58.

Two minutes.

He scratched his neck, trying to ease his nerves, the nerves whose existence he didn't understand, the nerves that he wish he didn't have. He just wanted to have an enjoyable Christmas night. Why was he being so _weird?_

 _It's the atmosphere,_ he told himself. _Getting dressed up, having a nice dinner; it's all atmospheric. That's why I'm so off._

He knew this was true. And yet he _still_ wasn't any more calmed about it.

7:00.

Looking up from his watch, Draco was met with the sight of Granger as she turned the corner at the end of the corridor. He fought to keep back a smile, not wanting to get too out of character just by seeing that she hadn't stood him up. But this was a hard task, given how she looked.

Simply put, she was magnificent. She wore a brilliant red dress, one that reached to just above her knees, and a small, light pink purse was slung over one arm. The dress had a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves, falling in exactly the right way. Not to mention that it made the Gryffindor look radiant.

Of course, not that Draco noticed this fact.

"Granger," he greeted, giving her a mock bow.

"Malfoy," she laughed, curtsying quite terribly, yet gracefully at the same time. "Don't you clean up well."

He shrugged. "It's not hard to do when you look as amazing as I do on a daily basis already." He sighed in an overly exasperated way, a teasing smirk on his face. "But, I will admit, you don't look too shabby yourself."

Granger smiled. "Oh, you like it?" She gestured to her dress, the smallest of blushes on her cheeks. "It's one of my favorites. I've had it for what feels like forever. But I can't bear to part with it. I love the color more than I can say."

At her gesture, Draco couldn't help but take in her form. There was no denying it: she had a good body. He had never really noticed it before, for he'd never had reason to, but with her looking so tempting in the moonlight, it was hard to not look at her in that way. The dress hugged her curves in a very particular way, a way that was innocent and yet somehow suggestive to the boy. After a moment, he found that he had to tear his gaze away before he could let his mind wander too far.

He didn't want it roaming _there._

 _What's wrong with me?!_ he chastised himself. _What the hell?! Stop it!_

"Well," Draco finally said, trying to get his mind back on track, "I'd agree with you on the color if it wasn't a Gryffindor shade. You know how much I hate that house."

Granger rolled her eyes. "Oh, me too. Anyone from that house is insufferable."

"And a know-it-all," Draco joked. Granger scrunched her nose at him and hit him on the shoulder. He just let out a small chuckle, shaking his head.

"Anyways, joking aside," the girl pushed, "how about this dinner, then? If you were so eager to set it all up, can't I finally see it?"

"Hmm," the Slytherin pondered. "That depends."

"Oh?" She quirked an eyebrow. "And what is it dependent on?"

He leaned in slightly, giving her his signature smirk. "On whether or not you are prepared to be blown away."

She tilted her head, giving him an equally intense look. "Well, then, lead on."

He smiled slightly, finally turning away. He paced in front of the currently blank wall, thinking clearly in his mind, "Take me to the room prepared for Christmas night." After three repetitions of the phrase, a small door appeared. It was elegant and sculptured, like the entrance to a highly decorated museum.

He walked to it proudly, grabbing the handle. As he did so, he turned to his guest and gestured for her to enter. "Ladies first."

She scoffed with a twinkle in her eye. "What a gentleman," she said overdramatically, laughing nonetheless.

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm just excited to see your reaction. Is that a sin?"

"It is if you get my hopes up and they come crashing down afterwards."

"They won't," he stated. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that she'd be impressed. There wasn't a person on earth who'd be displeased with what he'd set up.

"Sure of yourself, aren't you?" Granger teased as she reached the door, her delicate hand resting on it lightly.

He smirked. "Always." And he opened the door.

Grinning at him as he did so, Granger walked into the room and Draco's ears were immediately filled with the sound of her gasp. That was a good sign.

Following her, Draco closed the door behind him and allowed himself a moment to take in his handy work. Truly, he was impressed with himself for pulling everything off with the short amount of time he'd been given. But he felt that even if he'd been given more, it wouldn't have turned out any better than it now was.

The two students stood at the entrance to a beautiful, endless garden, one that was at least thirty degrees cooler than the halls of Hogwarts. Hundreds of colorful and festive plants dotted their path, twisting around an intricately designed stone trail. Small flowers lined the side of the track, various grasses sprayed around them with care. Large arches made of green and white leaves were scattered about the pathway, making the overall aesthetic all the more pleasing.

Better yet, the room had been enchanted so that snow fell from the ceiling. The entirety of the room was covered in white, the pure, beautiful color that signified winter, Christmas, and new beginnings.

For wasn't their relationship just that: a new beginning?

The snow fell endlessly, creating a true winter wonderland. Granger looked around in awe, the smallest of smiles gracing her face as the flakes gently tumbled into her dark brown locks and long lashes. They interlaced themselves with her hair, creating a sort of dance between the colors.

All of this—the plants, the trail, the snow—Granger noticed. But there was one particular thing that caught her eye: the decorations that Draco had sprinkled about the room.

Streamers. Small, appropriate balloons. A Christmas tree in the exact center of it all. Floating bubbles with suspended snowflakes in their center.

Each one in the same two colors.

"Red and green," Granger whispered, turning to Draco with what could've been tears in her brown eyes. "Everything's red and green."

He nodded and stayed silent.

Granger looked at it all again, biting her bottom lip to keep from becoming overwhelmed. "Is it red and green to represent Christmas or Gryffindor and Slytherin?"

Draco choked down a smile. He'd thought about the question, too. "Both," he replied.

Granger kept her back turned to him but nodded, her hair bouncing as she did so.

Funny, ironic, wasn't it? That Draco had taken such a liking to the two colors after explicitly scoffing his distaste for them at Slughorn's party. But people changed, he supposed. He was a prime example of this.

Draco swallowed and took a tentative step towards her. He was nervous again. "Do…do you like it?"

She whipped around to face him, disbelief evident on her face. "Do I _like_ it?"

He just continued to watch her.

She grinned, letting out a breath of incredulity. "I…I…I _love_ it!" she exclaimed, her arms raising to address all that was around her. "This is the most amazing, most thoughtful, most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me! I…I can't believe you did all of this. This is insane." Her arms dropped and her eyes, which had been surveying the room in complete awe again, returned to his silver gaze. "Thank you. I mean it."

Draco was touched by her sincerity, which he hated to admit to himself. But he smiled, a small countenance that adorned his face ever so lightly.

"You're welcome," he said quietly. "It's the least I could do for the only one I have left."

She smiled at that, but something inside of Draco fell at the words. The only one he had left. The only one he liked. The only one he _cared for._

 _No,_ his adamant thoughts commanded. _No. Not here. Not now. This will not ruin this night. And it's not her. It's not._

Ignoring his thoughts, Draco began to walk through the garden, Granger by his side. She continued to gaze around at everything, dumbfounded at what she saw. It truly was beautiful.

Draco led her through the maze, finally stopping by the red and green Christmas tree in the center of the indoor garden. Next to the tree was a small table with two chairs and a decorative candle. Two plates sat in waiting, each with a spoon, fork, and knife next to them.

Granger laughed when her eyes fell upon them. "You don't let anything fail to exceed my expectations, do you, Malfoy?"

He shrugged, a cocky smirk on his face. "Well, you know me. Always trying to one up you."

She laughed. "I am in no way mad or reluctant to admit that you win this round."

"As I should," he said, nodding proudly.

The two sat and as Draco clapped his hands, their plates were filled with turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, bread rolls, and the most delicious pumpkin pie imaginable. Granger's eye widened before she shook her head.

"You're amazing and insane," she said. "This looks perfect."

"Because it is," Draco said, not wasting a moment as he grabbed his fork and knife, beginning to cut into his piece of turkey.

The two ate, laughing as they spoke in between bites of the delicacies that lay before them. They grinned, telling jokes, tales, and stories of their lives. They opened up, they shared, they got to know each other.

That night, the girl from Gryffindor and the boy from Slytherin sat and ate dinner together. Christmas dinner. Two people from opposite ends of the world spoke and were friends. The pureblood and the mudblood, in perfect harmony.

"So—" Draco was cut off by his own chuckle. "You-you're actually serious?"

Granger nodded, her hand over her mouth as she chewed, amusement evident in her twinkling eyes. "Mhmm."

Draco shook his head and tutted. "Oh, Granger, as a _second year?"_

She swallowed and scoffed, eyes rolling in good-natured exasperation. "Oh, come on, you don't remember me being absent from classes for weeks on end?"

"No, I remember it," he admitted. "I just never suspected it was because you'd turned yourself into a human-sized cat in an attempt to find out if I was the heir of Slytherin."

She shrugged. "All for the greater good, I suppose."

Draco took a bite of his pie. "Tell me, were you disappointed when Potter and Weasley told you it wasn't me?"

She thought about this. "Well, I was upset that we'd have to keep looking; after you, we had no guesses on who it could have possibly been. But I think in the long run, even though we despised each other, I was relieved that it wasn't you."

Draco's ears perked up at this. "Really? Why?"

Hermione frowned slightly, twirling her fork through the scrap of turkey on her plate. "I…I don't know. I think I wanted to believe, even then, that there was good in you." She looked up at him. "Before then, I didn't think there was. But knowing that you weren't the one causing all the chaos made me realize that at least you weren't as bad as you could've been."

Draco narrowed his eyes in thought, looking down. He hadn't thought that him _not_ being behind something would somehow impact someone's view of him. What the girl said made sense, but it made him pause and think for a moment. What would she think if she knew of his task? What would she think if he decided to do it? What if he didn't?

"I'm sorry," Granger suddenly said quietly. "I didn't mean to come across as rude."

Draco frowned. "Rude? What are you talking about?"

Her brown eyes flicked to his gaze. "I didn't mean to say that I thought you were devoid of any hope or something. I just meant…you…gave me hope, maybe." She sighed and her eyelashes fluttered as she looked at her plate again. "I don't know."

Draco smiled ever so slightly before he wiped the look from his face. "No, you're totally fine. I didn't interpret it in that way at all. And trust me, I can relate to what you said."

"How?"

He smirked. "Sometimes even _I_ am not sure if there's any good in me."

Granger's lips twitched into something that looked suspiciously like a smile. "Oh? You think you're such a bad boy?"

Draco sneered, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head. "Isn't it obvious?"

Granger laughed, taking a sip of water. "Not even slightly."

He gaped, leaning forward in his chair, completely baffled. "What?!"

Granger nodded. "Oh, please! Being a bad boy is more than being a jerk to everyone!"

The Slytherin glared at her, one eyebrow superiorly cocked. "I don't think so."

"Well," the girl retorted, "I _know_ so."

"Okay, then," Draco said, "enlighten me. What must one do to be a bad boy?"

Granger thought this over. "Well, one must not give a damn about what others think of them."

"Check," Draco stated with a nod.

"One must live life dangerously."

"Check."

"One must have an attitude, but not so terrible that it drives everyone away."

"Hmm….sort of check."

Granger gave him a look at that one but continued on.

"And most importantly, one must be brave. And care about people, but not let it show. Why, I'm not really sure. But bad boys _never_ let anyone see that they care. But they do. And sometimes not letting people see that they give a damn is their downfall, because by the time they want to tell anyone, it's too late and they've been left or deserted or they've hurt someone so badly by their seemingly indifferent persona that it's irreversible."

Draco was shocked into silence. Granger looked at him.

"Please," she said with a small smile, one full of both laughter and sincerity at the same time, "don't be a bad boy, Malfoy. It's really not appealing. It's just…misguided."

Misguided.

That word really hit home.

But he put on a smirk and nodded. "Alright. I can see why that'd be a negative. I don't really want to have a downfall."

Yet a part of him already knew he'd have one. A part of him knew exactly what his downfall would be. And a part of him refused to believe that he was aware of it.

Which, coincidentally, was what fractionally made him a bad boy. At least partially one.

Done with their meal, the two stood from the table and walked along the pathway, taking a different route through the garden. Several times, Granger stopped to admire a section or to smell a particular flower. Draco didn't mind; he was just grateful he had someone to talk to at all. Someone who could have intellectual and interesting conversations with him.

At one point, the two friends reached a glorious frozen fountain, placed directly in front of an intricate stone bench. Rose bushes curved around the fountain, creating a circle so that the haven was cut off from the rest of the garden, the bench placed snugly against the curve of the shrubs. A large arch was positioned over the bench, a sort of umbrella from the falling snow. The small section of the garden was actually quite tiny, a cozy segment hidden away from the greater majority of it all, but it was so lovely that its size seemed to matter not to anyone.

Draco and Granger sat on the bench, staring at the unmoving and tranquil fountain in silence. The ice was pretty in its intricacy; because of its stillness, it was easy to study and appreciate. Each line of frozen water was defined clearly in its place, as if it knew exactly where it was supposed to be. Winter really could be quite astonishing.

 _Are you going to give it to her yet?_ a voice in Draco's head pestered. _You guys will probably leave soon. Better do it now._

He was right.

Taking a deep breath, Draco opened his mouth to say something, but as she so often seemed to do, Granger beat him to it.

"I have something for you," she blurted out randomly, shuffling around in her small, pink purse for a moment before holding out a package for him. "Please just be careful in unwrapping it."

It was fairly small, about ten inches long and not very thick at all. Draco took it slowly, surprised she'd gotten him anything in general. He looked at her, shock clear in his gaze, but there was no reluctance in his eyes as he held the gift.

The teenage boy unwrapped the present, doing so in the way he'd been instructed and not tearing through it quickly. Once all the wrapping was discarded on the floor, he blinked in surprise.

"You got me…" He surveyed what he held in his hand, turning it over several times to see if he had somehow missed something. "…parchment?"

That's what he was currently holding. A single, though admittedly long, piece of parchment.

"Er, thanks, Granger, I really appreciate it—"

The girl laughed, rolling her eyes as she did so. "No, no, let me explain! Did-did you really think that's all I got you?"

"U-um," he stuttered, confused. "Granger, that's what it looks like to me."

She smiled. "Well, _technically_ it's parchment, but it's special. You see," she explained, "I have a piece of parchment like this one, exactly like it. I enchanted both pieces so that they're connected. Basically, they're charmed so that we can send messages to each other. If you write something on your piece of parchment, it will appear on mine and won't disappear until I write back, and the same is true for when I write to you. I got the idea from the coins I bewitched last year for DA. It worked pretty well then and I think it'll work even better with parchment." She shrugged. "I thought you might want to talk even if I'm not there in person."

Draco was too shocked to even say anything. The silence was filled by Granger, who continued to speak after the smallest of pauses.

"And…" she said as she reached into her bag and pulled out yet another wrapped bundle, "there's one more."

Draco took it, bewilderment on his face. " _Another?"_

She grinned. "Yeah. This one's not as… _cool,_ but I thought I might as well give it to you anyways. If you don't like it, you don't have to keep it. I just figured I might as well…" she rambled, looking away in embarrassment.

Curiosity peaked, Draco unwrapped the gift in a hurry after setting the parchment next to him carefully.

What was now in his hands was a picture frame. The picture: Granger and him in Potions, sitting at their desk and smiling. He was grinning, watching the girl as she threw her head back, laughing at something he'd said. She sat up, wiping tears of happiness from her eyes, and said something to him that made him roll his grey ones and push her lightly. She just smiled and shook her head at him.

Draco couldn't take his eyes off the picture. It replayed itself, again and again. Still, he watched it. In all of his years, all of the Christmases he'd had, he'd never received anything like this.

A simple picture.

And it blew him away.

He saw Granger surveying him from the corner of his eye. "I…I know you probably wouldn't want anyone to see this picture, so I made it so that you can put a charm on it. You can have it look like there's a different photo to anyone else who sees it. That way you're the only one that sees the actual picture. You just have to set the second picture and no one will see the one of us."

It took Draco a long moment to tear his gaze away from the frame.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I love it. Both the picture and the parchment. They're great."

Granger gave him a tiny smile. Draco saw it and looked back at the frame in his hands. He didn't care if anyone saw the picture of them. There was no way that he was putting a charm on it so that no one could see the real picture. He loved it the way it was and he didn't care what anyone else would think.

Snapping out of his trance, Draco cleared his throat and turned to the girl next to him. "Well, I have something for you, too."

She blinked. "R-really?"

He nodded, fishing around in the pocket of his dress robes. "Of course."

Finding what he was looking for, Draco pulled out a small gift. "I didn't think you'd be getting me anything," he admitted, "but I got you this nonetheless."

Granger chuckled. "Well, we were both surprised, then."

Taking the package, the girl unwrapped it and her eyes immediately widened. In her palm sat an elaborately crafted charm bracelet, silver and bright in the reflection of the snow. Two tiny charms dangled from opposite sides of it. One was a lion, tossing its mane and opening its jaws in a silent roar of power. It looked up at the two students, then went back to whipping its head around. The second charm was a small, dangling quill scribbling furiously on a tiny, silver piece of parchment. It moved in a hypnotizing way, up and down and up and down.

"Wow," Granger breathed, immediately placing the bracelet on her left wrist and admiring it from several sides. "It's great. Thank you so much."

"And—" Draco laughed. "I _also_ got you one more thing."

Granger smiled. "Funny how it works that way."

Draco handed her the second bundle, one even smaller than the first, not even two inches across in any direction.

She frowned in confusion at first when she opened it to see a miniscule box, but gasped in astonishment when she saw what was on the inside. It was a brilliantly green emerald, perfectly circular and cut so that it looked like it could be a skipping stone. Etched in the exact center, however, was a small, coiled up snake. It looked up at the pair, hissing and showing its fangs as it saw the two pairs of faces staring down at it. It then closed its jaws, proud eyes glinting green as it watched them with superiority in the way it carried itself.

Looking at the girl, Draco was surprised to see tears glinting in her eyes for the second time that night. She tried blinking them away, but they didn't seem to want to go.

"Malfoy," she spoke quietly. "It's beautiful. This…this must have cost a fortune. I can't possibly accept it."

He was shaking his head before she'd gotten five words out. "No, I insist. You have to take them, both the emerald and the charm bracelet."

"But—"

"Granger," he interrupted, silver eyes catching her brown ones. "What I gave you wasn't _nearly_ as thoughtful as what you got me, forget about the cost. This was the best I could get, even though it doesn't have half as much meaning behind it as what you got me. It's the least I could do. Please. Take it."

Granger broke eye contact with him, looking back at the small stone in her hand, and nodded silently. The Slytherin breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God.

But before Draco knew what was happening, the girl had thrown her arms around him, burying her head in his neck. "Thank you," she whispered.

Shocked and not having any clue of what was happening, Draco blinked and looked down at Granger. She was pressed up against him and suddenly, the snowy garden didn't feel as cold. Not sure of what he was doing, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him in a warm embrace. It felt as if every inch of him was pressed to her as they sat on that stone bench, and for some peculiar reason, it felt _right_ to him.

He was enjoying just sitting there and hugging the only friend he had.

But it all ended before he could really begin to process any of it. Granger pulled back jerkily, seeming to realize what she'd done. Draco's face heated up as the Gryffindor's turned red, and they both looked at their feet. That had been a mistake.

After a moment, they stood silently and began to make their way to the entrance of the Room of Requirement. At first, it was an awkward silence, but it settled into a more comfortable and content one after long. Their awkward moment forgotten—or at least ignored for now—they could just walk and look around them as friends, enjoying the last few minutes of Christmas.

And what a perfect Christmas it had been.

Taking one last look of the garden before exiting the magnificent room, Draco and Granger opened the intricate door and stepped out into the seventh-floor corridor of Hogwarts. Back to normal life. Back to being from Gryffindor and Slytherin, two opposing houses. Back to being red and green, separate and never mixed like they were in the garden. There was no hugging out here in the open, where anyone could catch you.

Draco ignored the tug of disappointment he felt at this.

Granger turned to Draco, looking up at him after a long moment. "Malfoy, thank you so much for the gifts and for tonight. I had an amazing time."

He smiled, a sincere one. "Me too. Thanks for letting me organize it."

She grinned. "I'll never not have faith in you ever again."

He smirked. "Promise?"

Granger winked. "Promise." She took a step away from him, heading off down the corridor. "I'll see you around."

He blinked. "…You too."

As he walked down the hallway heading in the opposite direction of her, he couldn't get the wink out of his mind. He didn't know why. It was just a _wink,_ for Merlin's sake. But it was stuck in his head.

 _Don't turn around,_ he urged himself. _Don't look at her._

He wanted to.

 _Don't._

But—

 _NO._

Draco ignored the voice.

He turned around.

But Granger was already gone.

* * *

 **Author's Note Thing**

 **4688 words. I'm so tired and I want to sleep. Its 5:41am and I didn't sleep at all. Imma sleep now.**

 **Go check out The Aspen's Screech if you're into Warriors!**

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 **I hope you enjoyed the chapter and PLEASE REVIEW GUYS LIKE SERIOUSLY!**

 **Love you lots!**


	27. A Second New Year

**Don't. It's fine.**

 **Here you go! Very cute, Very long! ;)**

* * *

 _"_ _That was…odd. Draco swallowed, shaking himself quickly. What a weird way to start 1997. The second time."_

* * *

Draco sat perched on his new broomstick, hovering a few hundred feet above the Quidditch pitch, looking out over the snow-covered grounds. A slight breeze ruffled his platinum blond hair and he sighed quietly, closing his eyes as his chest expanded. It felt like it was the first truly peaceful moment he'd had in months.

The year had just been so incredibly hectic. And here it was, finally ending. For that day was New Year's Eve and all Draco could feel was an insanely large amount of relief that 1996 was ending...for the second time. It hadn't exactly been a great year, the first time _or_ the second through.

In fact, it felt like this New Year's Eve was worse. Why? Because the school year was now halfway over and though, unlike before, he knew he could carry out his task, there was a different consequence tied to his decisions related to it. One that didn't exist before. One that gave him a throbbing headache anytime he thought it over.

It didn't help that he had no idea what choice, carrying out the mission or ignoring it, would bring about that hated outcome.

Yes, the second ending of 1996 was definitely more stressful than the first one.

But Draco shook his head harshly, banishing the thoughts and fear. What did someone else's death matter to him? As long as he lived, that was all that mattered. For that was why he was there in the first place, living through that year again: to extend what would've been his short life.

Opening his eyes, Draco was pleasantly surprised to see the small form of Granger bouncing along towards the field from the castle. As she walked, her hair bobbed up and down rhythmically. Once she was closer, Draco could see the piles of books in her arms and he couldn't help the small smile that rose to his lips.

He met the girl at the pitch, flying down and dismounting as she came to a halt. "Granger," he greeted.

"Malfoy," she replied, readjusting the books in her arms as she let out a breath. "Happy New Year's Eve."

"The same to you." He cocked an eyebrow. "What's up?"

She shrugged. "No one in the school, obviously, and I got lonely. Figured I'd come out here with you and read while you practiced."

Draco nodded. "Alright, makes sense. I'll be done soon probably and then we can go to the library or something, I don't really care."

Granger smiled. "Sounds good."

Leaving her to her studying, Draco took off on his broom once again, soaring through the air. He leaned forward, pressing as much of himself to the slim wood as he could. The wind whipped his hair as he raced the wintery air, zooming past the goalposts and doing laps around the field.

He breathed in and exhaled slowly. No matter how crazy and overwhelming his life could be, he was glad to know that he would always have Quidditch. It was the one thing he could consistently go to for a solace and find a constant haven. It cleared his mind, renewed his strength, gave him something to calm him down at the worst of times.

But at that moment, as his eyes flicked to the girl far below him, he felt that for whatever reason, not even flying through the air at the speed of a million curses could keep his mind from her. Why? He wasn't sure.

Smirking, Draco hovered over to where she sat. Granger looked up at him, hand poised to flip the page in a rather thick textbook. She blinked, head tilted in confusion.

Before she could say anything, Draco shook his head. "No."

She frowned. "What?"

"No."

Her eyebrows raised. "No what?"

Draco gestured to her and her things, sprawled out on the floor. "No, you aren't just going to sit here. Not now, not to just… _study._ " He spat the word out like it left a bitter taste on his tongue. "We're on holiday. Enjoy yourself."

She sighed. "Malfoy, I _am_ enjoying myself."

"Well," Draco spluttered, rolling his eyes, "try doing something different."

"Why?"

"Just—because!"

Granger's eyes sparkled as she laughed. "What would you suggest I do, then, if reading is not up to par with your standards?"

Several relatively non PG answers to this question instinctually popped into Draco's head before he could even think to push them away, and before he could allow his cheeks to grow red, he touched down and dismounted.

"Come here," he said, one eyebrow cocked superiorly. A challenge.

"Wha…" It took but a second to process. "No. No. NO!"

"Oh, come on, Granger," Draco groaned, slumping forward. "There's no reason to be afraid. It's just a broomstick."

The negative connotation to the six-letter word forced Granger's shoulders to square defensively. "I'm not afraid."

"Oh? Then why so reluctant?"

"I just…don't like to fly."

Draco's lids fell closed as he scoffed. "Typical Granger. Too deeply immersed in her comfort zone to try anything new."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Eh-excuse me? Comfort zone?"

Draco smirked. Here it came.

Granger held her chin high. "You're talking to the girl who's faced a three-headed dog the size of a house. You're talking to the girl who solved the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets and had to personally deal with the side effects that came along with it. I've faced a werewolf. I was a part of the Triwizard Tournament! Don't you tell me that I even _have_ a comfort zone!"

It had worked.

"Move over, Malfoy," Granger sniffed. "I'm getting on."

Bowing deeply with a gesture of his hand to the waiting broom, he caught her eye and smirked. She rolled her eyes. "I know. Don't think I don't know."

"Can't resist a good challenge, then, can you?"

"Apparently not."

She swung one leg over the side of the long handle, clasping the wooden stick between her hands with visibly white knuckles. Yet her jaw was set and her eyes were cold. She was doing this.

"You sure?" Draco asked, smiling as he got on behind her. "I mean, if you're not comfortable with—"

"Oh, stop it," Granger scoffed. "I'm not backing out and _don't_ mock me. I can do this."

Shrugging, Draco kicked off from the ground, lightly flying into the brisk winter air. The girl pressed against his chest shivered slightly, but clearly wouldn't allow herself to gasp in shock from the sudden lack of ground beneath her feet. She was much too proud for such a reaction.

The snow on the dead grass but twenty feet beneath them cheered the two on silently, watching as the broom ascended. You could almost reach out and touch the floor of the stadium, that was how lowly they flew.

But would Draco allow Granger to be so comfortable? No, of course not. That wasn't even a question.

"You good?" he asked with only a hint of superiority in his voice.

"Shut it," Granger forced out between shivering teeth. "I'm fine."

"Not for long." A promise.

"Wha—" The word was cut off as the broom shot upwards, along with the two passengers, and Granger's original syllable of confused questioning turned into a horrified scream. Behind her, Draco just smiled.

The Quidditch stadium waved them goodbye, smiling at the broom as it departed, leaping from the depths of the arena like a speck of oil from a sizzling pan of bacon. Looking back, the Slytherin wished he could have waved to it, too, but he had other things to tend to.

Like the terrified girl against him.

Any person who had ever said "the sky is the limit" was surely a fool. They knew nothing, nothing at all, nothing of this world and the feel of the clouds against their skin and the stars next to their eyes. There was nothing like this feeling.

This feeling of being one with the sky. Of being equals to the wind, the breeze, the world. Nothing compared to being higher than life itself. There was nothing like this. Nothing like this feeling of Granger next to him and the combined sound of her fear and his ecstasy.

The woods beneath them were nothing but a vision as they foggily passed underneath their feet. Greens and browns and mixed shades of grey. Beautiful but trite at the same time, if it was possible. Not many things could compare to other things of the earth, like the girl, and this was no exception.

Somehow, he'd managed to forget that.

"How about now?" Draco shouted to the girl over the sound of the wind and the air screaming their approvals to his ear. "Still good?"

Granger shot him a look over her shoulder. Her face was white. "I never back down."

"Do I sense a 'but' coming?"

"No," she yelled, seeming somewhat reluctant to it.

 _Lies. She was going to say "but I'm terrified and want to get down."_

Why was Draco always right?

He didn't want to say goodbye to this feeling, this feeling in his chest and the excited breath in his lungs. Flying did that to him.

But he couldn't torture her anymore.

Steering his broomstick in a different direction, Draco sped away towards the castle, landing on the astronomy tower in less than thirty seconds. Dismounting, Draco laughed at the sight of Granger, helping her off the broom, as she couldn't be trusted on her unsteady feet.

"See?" he smirked. "Not so bad."

Granger pursed her lips. "Mm. Not so bad at all."

Something about the response made him shake his head. "Well, hopefully the rest of today won't be so terrible. In fact, it most definitely won't be."

"How can you be so sure?" Granger questioned, arms crossed against her chest to keep herself warm.

"Because," Draco drawled, eyes glinting, "I would like to invite you to the most exclusive party in the castle, tonight, in the Slytherin common room. It's brilliant, really."

"It sounds it," Granger sniffed, "but, uh, don't you think the other Slytherins wouldn't approve of me being there?"

"Oh of course they'd disapprove," Draco assured. "I completely agree with you. I guess it's a good thing there aren't any other Slytherins staying in the castle this winter break."

Granger grinned at the statement. "Well then, I'll… _think_ about it."

"Aw, Granger," he pouted mockingly. "How could you leave me with such bated breath?"

She sighed overdramatically. "I just don't know. But I have to. I have a very busy schedule, as you must know. But"—she added as she saw him roll his eyes—"I suppose I can clear it so that I can at least stop by the party for a minute or two."

The Slytherin smirked. "Good. Tonight then?"

"Tonight."

"Great."

Granger cleared her throat slightly as Draco turned to leave. "But, uh, Malfoy, aren't you forgetting something?"

He frowned. Was he? "I…don't think so…?"

Granger rolled her eyes. "My textbooks. Down on the Quidditch pitch."

He groaned. "Right. I'll get those." And he jumped on his new broom and sped off, back towards the applauding stadium and cheering snow.

. . . ….. . . .

There were pastries, and chips, and apple cider, and water (because butterbeer was much too alcoholic, apparently). Not much else was necessary but the presence of the two students.

The last few hours of 1996 would be good ones, Draco was sure of it.

At promptly nine o'clock on December 31st, he opened the door to his common room and welcomed the lion into the snake's den. He'd found that she was never late to anything; she had a very strict way of sticking to schedules, Draco figured, and had never been late to any occasion.

Simply put, if she wasn't there by the appointed time, well, she wouldn't be coming at all.

"Granger," Draco said, fake surprise in his voice. "What are you doing here?"

"You know," she started, voice trailing off. "I'm not completely sure… I think I got lost. Lovely place you've got here, though."

"Why, thank you."

Granger took a seat near the fire, grabbing a pastry off the table and swinging her legs over the sofa. "Thanks for the food. I'm famished."

"Guess there won't be leftovers then."

It didn't take long for them to settle into comfortable conversation, talking about school and people and anything, really.

"So…let me see if I completely understand."

"Okay."

"These…televisions, you call them?"

"Mhmm."

"These televisions…"

"That's right."

"…have tiny moving pictures of people in them."

"Go on."

"And they…entertain muggles?"

"Exactly."

Draco leaned back on the couch, shaking his head at the girl lying next to him, her head against one armrest while he leaned against the other. "Absurd. Why would anyone ever need one?"

"Oh, I don't know," Granger lazily said. "Maybe because muggles don't have magic to keep them busy."

"Still sounds idiotic to me."

Granger cocked an eyebrow. "That's because you've never used one."

"Mm, maybe."

Granger laughed, scooting further down the couch so that her head rested against the armrest like a pillow, scooting her legs up so that her fuzzy socks were mere inches away from Draco's thigh.

They just talked. Later and later into the night.

Eventually, with midnight drawing nearer and nearer, they ran out of things to discuss. 10:29. Still lots of time before the new year.

Granger looked around. "So…what now?"

A pause. "I don't know."

Granger thought for a moment, then smiled. "I have an idea. A muggle game, hugely popular."

Draco mumbled under his breath, saying "Probably some more nonsensical bull—"

"What's that?"

"Nothing. Lay it on me."

Granger sat up and faced him, sitting crisscross on the sofa. "Have you ever heard of truth or dare?"

Draco frowned. "No…but it sounds dumb."

"Actually, it's quite fun."

After a bit of explaining, the boy still seemed averse.

"At least try it!" Granger insisted. "Come on, you might like it."

Draco sighed. "Fine."

"Okay, truth or dare?"

A pause. "Dare."

Granger bit her lip, thinking as her eyes searched the common room. Now what should his first dare be? "I dare you…" Her eyes found the platter of pastries. There were at least ten remaining. "…to eat the rest of the pastries in under two minutes."

Draco scoffed. "Granger, you forget yourself. I'm a guy. That's an appetizer. Hand it here."

Smiling as she did so, Granger picked up the plate and passed it to him. She counted aloud as he started. In the end, he was right. They went down as if he wasn't even chewing.

"Alright, my go." Draco rubbed his hands together in preparation. "Truth or dare?"

She didn't even think. "Truth."

Draco threw his arms up for a moment before letting them limply fall by his side. "Granger!"

She blinked in dull confusion. "What?"

"Where's the fun in 'truth'?"

She shrugged. "There can be loads of fun in it. Besides, it's safe."

Draco smirked. "Safe. What happened to the girl who's faced a 'three-headed dog the size of a house'?"

"She's still here, just not yet."

Draco was already preparing a list in his head of dares for when she finally complied to the pull of the thrill.

"Fine. What's your favorite color?"

Granger tilted her head and looked up. "Hmm. I'd have to say emerald green."

Draco's eyebrows jumped on his face for a moment. "Well, how very fitting. Who'd have known that I'd have picked out your Christmas gift so perfectly. An emerald."

"I really do love it."

"I knew you would." Draco couldn't resist the urge to poke fun at her. "Let me also say: Slytherin color. Proves our superiority."

"Wow, that is a very long stretch. I don't think you can exactly conclude that from me liking the color." She smiled nonetheless.

"Oh, but can't I?" Draco frowned. "You, the greatest witch in the school—nay, the world—prefers green. Green is, coincidentally, the color of Slytherin. Does that make Slytherin the greatest house in the world by association?"

"Oh shoot," Granger said, rolling her eyes. "You're right. You've got me, Slytherin must be the best."

"I knew it."

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Granger crossed her arms, thinking once again. Draco couldn't help but think she should have had at least a small number of questions to pick from to ask him if she'd played the game so many times previously. But apparently not.

Then again, a lot of normal topics of conversation—like family or childhood—were off bounds for him. So he could understand.

"What's your favorite spell?"

Of course. "I should've known it'd have something to do with school."

"Well, you know me."

"Stunning spell. That's my favorite." It always had been.

Granger seemed surprised. "Really? Huh. I never would have guessed it. How come?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know, I guess I just like that it can do damage without doing _too_ much damage. Still effective."

Questions like these, for the next hour or so, maybe a little more. Granger stuck to her truths while Draco tended to pick dares, partially because he wasn't afraid to be put up to something but also because he didn't want to have to answer any personal questions.

Like why he'd been in the Room of Requirement that Hogsmeade weekend. No, he _definitely_ wasn't explaining that to her. Probably ever.

At approximately 11:37pm, Draco asked Granger, "Truth or dare?"

To which she _finally_ responded, "Dare."

Draco grinned evilly. He'd been waiting for this. Out from behind the couch, he pulled a firewhiskey bottle.

Granger gasped. "Malfoy! Where'd you get that? You'd get in _soooo_ much trouble—"

" _If,_ " he pointed out, "anyone reported me. Which you won't."

"But where'd you get it?"

"The kitchen."

Grangers' eyes glared at him from beneath her eyelashes. "You stole…from the elves. Wow. That's low."

Draco shrugged. "What can I say, I love my firewhiskey. Which brings me to my dare." He pointed the bottle at her. "I dare you to drink two shots."

She gaped. "Malfoy, I—"

"It's a dare."

"Yeah, bu—"

"You said dare. You must complete the dare."

Granger sat, mouth agape on the couch, floundering for an excuse. Finally, her mouth snapped shut and she grinded her teeth. "Fine. Hand it over."

Finding a shot glass in the Slytherin common room was not a hard task, not at all. It was Slytherin, after all.

Getting Granger to actually down them, however…well, the same couldn't be said. It took a full fifteen minutes to do so.

And when she finally forced them down her throat, Malfoy realized his mistake. She couldn't even handle a full bottle of the incredibly tame butterbeer. Why had he thought she could deal with two shots of firewhiskey?

She sat on the floor, legs splayed out and arms propping herself up, giggling loudly, frizzy hair in her face. Her brown eyes peered up at him, visibly fogged over.

"M'foy"—Great. M'foy was back. —"how you ge' all the way up there?"

Malfoy sighed. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Good idea. Give her firewhiskey.

He leaned over and helped her up, hardly noticing as she gripped his biceps to keep steady and swayed on her feet. She hiccupped, bouncing as the simple motion seemed to rock her entire body.

"M'fooooyyy," she drawled, "why are you sooooo…." She stopped, her hand suddenly flying to her face and tugging on the hair over her eyes and nose. "Wait, why are there spiderwebs on my face?"

He'd really messed up. "Okay, Granger, I think it'd be better if you just sat down for a little bit."

For some reason, she couldn't manage that. She stayed latched to his arms, head drooping in sudden exhaustion. She was unpredictable as a drunk.

Should he take her back to the Gryffindor common room? Was it too late? What time even was it?

Checking his watch, he blinked in surprise to see that it was 11:59. Great timing.

"Hey Granger, one minute left 'til the new year."

She hiccoughed. "I'zz the new year?"

"Almost." His watch beeped. 1997. "Well, now it is."

The words were hardly out of his mouth before he was cut off. Granger suddenly seemed to have full control of her limbs again and had thrown her arms around Draco's neck, planting a kiss squarely on his lips. Sloppy and hurried. Draco didn't have enough time to do much than make a sound of shock and take a step backwards before it was over.

But Granger apparently wasn't. She seized the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to her as her cloudy eyes looked into his surprisingly clear ones. "M'foyyy," she drawled, dragging out the end of his name. "I gotta say…I think yer one hell of a—"

Then she slumped to the floor, words ceasing to exist as quiet snores took their place.

Draco stood there, mouth slightly open and shoulders tensed. The room was now too quiet, much too strikingly and unnervingly silent. The only sound was her inhales and exhales.

…

That was…odd.

Draco swallowed, shaking himself quickly. What a weird way to start 1997. The second time.

Shaking his head, Draco looked around the room. There was no way in all of hell that he'd be dragging her limp body all the way back to Gryffindor tower, not to mention that he didn't even know the password, so he'd have to find a place for her here.

He supposed his own bed would have to do and he'd sleep in the common room. That way, if she woke up before him and tried to sneak out of the dorms, she'd wake him on the way out so he could check to make sure that she was okay.

Sighing, yet amused nonetheless, Draco hoisted Granger off the carpet, shushing her as she moaned quietly in her sleep. Making his way up the steps to his room, the unconscious girl muttered a few "words," most of which were "Malf…" and "Dra…".

It was both sad and hilarious.

He laid her gently down on his bed, pulling the emerald (how coincidental) sheets over her body and watching as she relaxed visibly into them.

Draco stood there for a minute, maybe two, maybe a few, just watching her, an amused smile playing across his face. She was crazy. Quite a different side to the Gryffindor bookworm.

Wait. He needed to remember himself. This was unbecoming.

He looked down, at his bare feet. He bit his bottom lip and glanced at the girl one more time before turning away and heading to the doorway.

He exited, closing the door behind him and not looking back.

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	28. A Hilarious Misunderstanding

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The realization took a while to hit. First, there was the odd angle that the light filtered into the room, softly falling at the foot of where Hermione lay, eyes barely open, arm slung over her forehead. Then there was the weird feeling of the sheets on her skin; they felt…different, somehow, unlike her usual blankets. And the pillow: it was flatter than she preferred.

And why was the room so dark? Even with the sun shining through the window, there was a certain harsh aura to the space in which she presently resided.

Her eyes finally seemed to process that there was something wrong, and they blinked themselves awake. Once they'd focused, she was horrified and confused to find that they had somehow managed to not notice that this was a _boy's_ dorm room.

Yes, she definitely was not safe in her bed in Gryffindor tower.

Hermione shot upright, hand flying to her mussed-up hair that sat atop her pounding skull. Merlin, her head throbbed worse than ever before; what had happened?

For the life of her, she couldn't remember. There was a gaping hole in her memory, as if someone had cut open her brain and stolen a chunk of it.

But she had been sleeping in a guy's bed, though the guy was currently absent. And obviously if she couldn't remember anything from before, then she'd been drunk the previous night. Anything could have happened.

Hermione swallowed. This wasn't good.

Throwing the emerald sheets off her legs, Hermione stood, albeit unsteadily, her arms wrapping themselves around her shaking body. What had happened? She wasn't sure if she even wanted to know. Most girls didn't wake to find themselves in a strange bed for good reasons.

She had to face this. Behind her as she left the room, snow fell softly past the grimy and unwashed window and a clock distantly chimed seven times. The door closed softly, as if making a ruckus would somehow make the situation all too real and throw Hermione into a chaotic frenzy.

Her fuzzy socks dampened the sound of her footsteps on the damp and musty stairwell. If she could, she'd leave this place without waking anyone or causing a commotion. She'd never been one privy to gossip or drama, and this could ruin her if anyone noticed her presence in what was clearly _not_ her own house.

She didn't need to enter the common room to have figured out that she was in the Slytherin quarters of the castle. The abundance of dark green and menacing black was enough to tip her off, along with the fact that she didn't really have any guy friends in Ravenclaw of Hufflepuff. Where else could she have been?

But the confirmation that this was, in fact, Slytherin wasn't exactly comforting. This was the most rebellious house, the house most prone to do whatever they wanted, to party, to drink, to get crazy. Her suspicions grew into a frightened ball in her stomach, tangling themselves around until she was sure that she'd retch.

The room looked empty, which relieved her slightly, but she wasn't excited to face Malfoy later. Obviously he had to have known about this. What would he say? What would he—

 _Stop. Think._ She needed coffee. Maybe then her mind would stop running at a million miles an hour. It was too early for this, to be thinking, even for Hermione Granger herself.

Looking around, she saw a coffee pot along with tea and milk in the corner of a counter, one close to the entrance to the common room. She'd grab a cup and quickly leave; every moment she was there, Hermione grew more weary and jumpy.

Still shaking, she slumped over to the counter, grabbing a mug with quivering hands. The black coffee fell into it, splashing quietly into the bottom and raising painstakingly slowly to the brim. Usually, Hermione wasn't one to drink coffee without at least a little sweetener, but that day was different. She felt like she deserved the bitter taste on her tongue; she was a despicable human being.

She took a tentative sip, half relishing and half abhorring the spice of the burn on her tongue. This was an awful day already. She needed to get out of here.

But it seemed that fate would have it another way.

"Granger?"

Hermione jumped, yelping in surprise and hissing as the coffee in her mug went from the cup to her own bare hands. She barely caught the coffee cup before it shattered on the floor below her feet.

Setting the mug on the counter and wiping her scalded hands on her shirt, Hermione turned to face Draco. Her pathetic state wasn't exactly helped by doing so.

The last time she'd seen the Slytherin sixteen-year-old without a shirt on, he'd been severely burned all across his chest and a good amount of it had been covered by various bandages and ointments meant to relieve the pain. Now was quite a different instance. He was in no way injured on that early winter morning, actually managing to look quite the opposite.

She attributed her loss of breath to the sudden heat from the coffee and not the sudden heat rising to her face.

She only had half a moment to take in his exposed chest, which—she couldn't help but notice—was much more well-toned than she'd have expected. N-not that she'd thought about it. Why would she have? No, the idea was preposterous.

She only had half a moment because she forced her eyes up to his face. He was rubbing his face with one hand, the other running through his hair, which was pleasantly ruffled. Didn't even look that bad.

It took a while for her brain to process all of this, and then realize what he—shirtless—could possibly mean. Maybe it was how he always slept. Or maybe something crazy _had_ happened, as she'd assumed. Oh no.

"M-Malfoy," Hermione finally greeted, voice a good bit weaker than she'd have liked. Could he read her awkwardness in the simple way she stood? She somehow didn't doubt it.

"Granger," he said again. His voice was groggy from the early morning, as if shrouded in sleep's veil. It sounded nice. His eyebrow cocked as his foggy eyes scanned her over quickly. "How…are you?"

"I…" She was grasping for something, anything to say. What _could_ she say? "I, uh, I'm—"

Not even trying to hide the smirk of amusement on his face, Malfoy pulled on a silk black robe, tying the string around his hips as she continued to find words.

His patience was a notoriously short thing. "Spit it out, would you?"

"Malfoy, I—" Her hands flew to her head, as if clutching at the roots of her hair would help to calm her raging headache. "I don't know why I—I'm so sorry, I just—I can't believe…I didn't mean to…It's like this—"

"Woah, woah, woah." Malfoy waved his hands slowly, eyes scrunching up. "Slow the hell down. I can't understand you most of the time, don't even mention when you're talking at the speed of sound. Calm down. Breathe."

She took his advice.

"Now, tell me what you're trying to say."

She let out a breath. "Look, I don't know what happened last night, but…I didn't mean to do anything. I didn't mean for anything to happen. If I did anything, then I'm so, so sorry and I—"

"Wait." Malfoy had moved around the couch and was now leaning against the back of it, but five feet from Hermione and looking right at her, head tilted. "What are you talking about?"

She swallowed. "Uh, last night. And whatever…happened."

His eyes narrowed in confusion. "What do you _think_ happened?"

Hermione bit her lip and could feel her cheeks grow hot. She didn't say anything, just gestured between them slowly.

There was a moment of palpable silence before the boy processed what she was insinuating. It seemed in slow motion that his face lit up into the widest grin Hermione had ever witnessed from him and he bent over in hysterical laughs. His hair flopped over his face and his silk robe fell off his form slightly so that Hermione could easily see down his flat chest. Not that she was looking, obviously. Preposterous.

"You—" He broke off into bouts of laughter yet again. "You…you think…you think we—?" He straightened again, hand against the backrest of the sofa to keep himself steady.

It was several minutes before he had composed himself. All the while, Hermione stood there silently with a dully plain look on her face.

"Granger, no," Malfoy assured, hands rubbing his face again, as if he was trying to physically wipe the smile from it. "No, nothing happened."

It seemed too good. "But…I woke up in your bed. And I can't remember anything! I must have been drunk. Also, you were, you know, shirtless, and—"

He shook his head. "I let you sleep in my bed because you passed out and I didn't think leaving you on the floor would have been appropriate. And I always sleep without a shirt on." He smirked at her. "I like my skin to breathe."

She ignored the comment and nodded, considerably calmed down. "Okay, but I still can't remember anything. Why?"

"Yeah, uh." It was his turn to be awkward. "Things _did_ get a little…tipsy. We played some muggle game called truth or dare and I dared you to drink two shots of firewhiskey. It didn't exactly end well, as you can imagine."

Hermione tutted, fists on hips. "Malfoy, firewhiskey? How could you?"

"I know," he admitted, small smirk on his face. "I don't know why I thought you could handle it when you can't even handle butterbeer."

She rolled her eyes. "I was referring to—"

"Stealing from the elves, I know. You've already chastised me for it."

Hermione smiled slightly. "Well how would I know? I can't remember."

He shook his head in amusement. "You're crazy. But…no, okay? Nothing happened. I wouldn't do something like that, especially if you were drunk. You can trust me."

She let out a breath. "Thank goodness."

There was an odd pause before he said anything more. "So…you don't remember _anything_ from last night? Anything at all?"

Hermione bit her lip and looked at the ground, straining her aching mind. Now that she thought about it, she could think of a few things. "I recall…getting here. And talking about television. And something else, I think, but that's it." At his expression, she shrugged. "Alcohol and I aren't a good mix."

He huffed. "Yeah, I know."

Their conversations seemed to constantly be peppered with awkward silences nowadays. This one was no different, as could be expected.

"Er," Hermione cleared her throat. "Well, thanks, Malfoy. Even though I can't remember most of it, I'm sure I had a great time last night."

He laughed, a short bark of one. "Yeah, you'd probably agree with that statement if you could remember it."

What did that mean? She blinked in subtle confusion. _Had_ something happened that he wasn't telling her? The statement sounded quite broad, but in a way that made it sound like he was hinting at something or not telling her the full truth.

But before she could ask, Malfoy said, "I'll see you around."

"Alright. Bye."

She left, forgetting her mug of lukewarm bitter coffee behind. Hermione didn't feel like she needed it anymore; the morning had been such an odd one that it wasn't necessary for her to be more awake than she already was.

She just wished she'd been soberer the night before so she could remember everything that had happened. She was almost certain that he was hiding something.

But then again, if it was important, he'd have told her. Why wouldn't he? They were friends. There was nothing he couldn't tell her.

That was what friends were for, after all.

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	29. Something He Could Tell Her

**There's something so oddly satisfying to me about the wording of this chapter. I was editing it and distinctly thought "wow the structure and wording is REALLY WEIRD but I honestly love it."**

 **Idk, maybe its normal and I'm just crazy, but it sounds lowkey highkey complicated but also not. Idk.**

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 _"_ _He couldn't help but think that all of these eerie concepts about his own demise couldn't possibly be good for his health."_

 _~Draco, thinking_

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As the excitement of the beginning of 1997 began to fade, the reality of the second semester of her sixth year at Hogwarts hit home for Hermione. A bit late, however, for it hit home only when the first week arrived. The students were back, chatting in hallways and alcoves, shoving in their friends' faces just how rich they were through their new coats and amazing Christmas gifts. Ah, the spirit of the holidays: it was nothing, truly, without the gloating and cooing and envy.

The first Monday and Tuesday had come and gone so quickly that Hermione hardly noticed and was given little time to chat with her friends. Potions with Malfoy had been fine, just as usual, and considerably less awkward than she'd thought it'd be. The whole fiasco with the "I thought we slept together but we actually didn't, whoops" incident was nothing but humorous in his eyes, which was a huge relief to the Gryffindor girl. What she'd have done if he'd made a big deal of it, she wouldn't know. Probably not much aside from feel insanely embarrassed and prudish for having the state of mind.

But thankfully, she didn't have to worry about that. They were fine, just like they always were and hopefully how they always would be. Their friendship was a new one, that was for sure, and it wasn't without its irregularly scheduled snaps and retorts, but it was one nonetheless, and a strong one at that.

In one way or another.

Now Hermione sat in Charms class on Wednesday morning, Harry next to her and not even trying to stop himself from dozing off as Flitwick welcomed them back from the front of the room.

"And welcome to you, Mr. Potter," he squeaked, eyes crinkling in amusement as the boy's head shot up from where it had been lying on the desk. "Yes, this is class, time to wake up."

"Sorry, Professor," he apologized, hands fumbling at his glasses lazily.

"It's quite all right." The teacher laughed. "Someone's had a long holiday."

Harry smiled. "Not long enough."

The Professor chuckled and turned back to the rest of the class, jumping into his new lesson. Hermione was thankful for this; she'd missed her studies while on break. Charms was one of her favorite classes, for the simplicity of the idea was one she appreciated.

Today in particular they would be starting a new unit, one on what was called "switching spells." A simple concept, it was what it sounded like: a spell that enabled items to trade places in less than the blink of an eye. Anything from quills to cats to wardrobes to people, its arm of possibilities reached quite far. Hermione was intrigued, as she always was.

After his explanation of the spells and a quick demonstration, Flitwick set his class loose to practice the charm on their own. Hermione set a sheet of parchment and a bottle of ink on the desk on front of her and readied her wand. Muttering " _Q_ _uae_ _E_ _x_ _T_ _ransuerso_ _,"_ the spell for the simplest form of switching spells and the only that they'd learned thus far, she wasn't surprised when she perfected it on her first try, for the items had switched positions without even needing to move.

She set her wand on the desk and shot Harry a smug look. "Your go."

It took about five tries, but he eventually got it.

"Good," he sighed contentedly. "Now that that's done, we can catch up. How was your break?"

Several different responses to the one question popped into existence in Hermione's head at the same time. _Great. Hilarious. Amazing. Embarrassing. Perfect._

"Fine," she settled for. "Nothing special, really. Being along at the castle wasn't awful at all. It gave me lots of time to think and get my mind straight and read. Speaking of which"—she smiled—"I really loved your Christmas present! Thank you so much for the book of potions."

"'Loved'?" Harry smiled. "Don't tell me you've already finished it."

"Alas, I have," she admitted. "It was great. How could you expect anything else of me?"

"That's true. I've come to know you over the past five and half years. Let me guess: it took you…two days to get through?"

Hermione smiled and winked, tapping her nose with her pointer finger.

Harry spread his arms out. "Am I good at guessing or what?"

Hermione laughed and nodded. She had missed these lighthearted conversations with Harry while he'd been gone. Malfoy was great, but he was no Harry. Not saying that she exactly preferred one over the other, just that he _literally_ wasn't Harry. They didn't have the same sort of conversation flow, and neither could match the other.

"How about you, then?" she asked, eyes sparkling in amusement. "Have a good holiday?"

He shrugged. "For the most part, yeah. Mostly just sat around and ate Mrs. Weasley's cooking or played Quidditch. There's not much else to do but that."

Hermione nodded, slightly saddened. "Still sounds fun, though."

Harry noticed her change in mood. "I'm really sorry about Ron. It would have been awesome if you could have been there."

"Still mad, then?"

They both looked to the front of the room where Ron sat next to Neville Longbottom, looking equal parts angry and bored.

"Yeah. He's still mad."

That stung. Whether or not she admitted it to herself, Hermione still had feelings for him. Being ignored day after day was beginning to take a tole and seeing him with Lavender didn't help.

Hermione sighed, looking at the desk and her wand that lay atop it. "I don't know what I should do. I mean, I don't even remember what he's mad about! I can't recall what our last fight was over. I don't know if I should apologize or just wait for him to get over it."

Harry patted her shoulder. "This seems to often much too often."

"Because it 100% does. I'm tired of it." The girl sat higher though, straightening her posture and taking a breath. "But it'll eventually pass. It always does."

Harry watched her with something like pity in his green orbs. "Well, stay strong. You know I'm always here for you."

"And for that, I'm grateful to you."

Harry chuckled as Hermione reached for the parchment and ink and placed them in her bookbag. As she reached for her wand, grabbing it with her left hand, the black-haired boy noticed something.

"Hey," he said, a little too loudly. "What's that? I've never seen it before."

He was gesturing to the delicate charm bracelet slung around her left wrist, one with two silver charms dangling from opposite ends.

"Oh," Hermione breathed, turning to give him a better view. "It was a present."

Harry's eyes widened. "Wow. It looks very expensive. Christmas gift, I presume." He sat back. "Who's it from?"

Um. "Oh, just an old friend from home." Before he could ask how a muggle could have gotten her a magical bracelet, she "explained." "I charmed them to move. It wasn't exactly hard to do."

"Well, nothing is for you." Harry rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. "Brightest witch of the age."

"That's my name, don't overuse it."

They laughed as the bell rang and parted ways, Harry going to get ready for Quidditch practice while Hermione headed towards the library. Charms was the last class of the day and they were now free to go about their own business. Fulfilling her name as the school bookworm, and proud of it, she was going to go study up on switching spells. Though they were going to learn the full range of the incantations, she was so intrigued with them already that she figured a little early reading up could do her no harm. They were interesting, in an uncomplicated sort of way.

Before she could reach her own personal haven, the haven with all the books of the world, her pocket began to burn. It wasn't unpleasant, just hot enough for her to notice it and realize what it was.

Turning a corner into a secluded section of a hallway, Hermione pulled out a long piece of parchment, one that now had writing on it, but not of her own hand. Malfoy had penned her, finally using the present she'd given him. It made her grin.

 _H—_

 _I can't think right now and I'm bored. Long day of classes, I'm afraid. People are idiots, all of them. R of R right now. You coming?_

 _~D_

Hermione smiled and thought for a moment. She'd love to go, but she really had her mind set on learning more about the switching spells. She pulled out a quill and a bottle of ink.

 _D—_

 _Sorry, heading to the library right now. Typical, I know. Maybe tomorrow. Hope your day gets better because that all sounds awful. Be sure to spare no details later, though I doubt I have to tell you that._

 _~H_

She stowed the parchment back in her pocket and her quill and ink in her bag, heading off to the library once again.

She did feel bad about saying no, though. Maybe the reason he was asking her to meet was because he'd just had the worst day of his life. It's not like he'd just come out and say it. Maybe he was on the brink and he really needed someone to talk to.

He had no one else, so she was his one outlet, after all.

Or maybe there was nothing wrong and he _did_ just want to talk to his friend. There was nothing wrong with that. It wasn't like the linked parchment was just for emergencies.

Either way, Hermione changed her mind. She'd stop by the library and then head up to the Room of Requirement and surprise him.

He'd be glad to see her. Surely.

. . . ….. . . .

 _Be sure to spare no details later, though I doubt I have to tell you that._

 _~H_

Draco couldn't keep the scowl from his face at reading the note. It wasn't her fault, of course, but he was in a right sour mood. Anything anyone did that day was peeving him off more than he could say.

 _Whatever,_ he thought. _At least without her here, I'll be able to think about this damned cabinet._

For ahead of him stood the vanishing cabinet in all of its menacing and intimidating glory, towering above his head gloomily. It glared at him, daring him to approach it, to try and reason with it enough for it to work. It wasn't one to be easily persuaded; it rather enjoyed not functioning.

Malfoy, however, knew exactly what he had to do to fix the cabinet. When it came down to it, it really was as "simple" as just muttering the right spells. He hadn't even attempted to fix it thus far in the year, but that was because he knew the correct enchantments this time. It wouldn't take more than ten days in total of his attention to get it to work.

He supposed he might at least put in one good day's work right now so that if he _did_ decide to carry out the plan, he'd be one day ahead of schedule.

He pulled out his wand, slowly moving it over the front of the cabinet and muttering under his breath. He didn't let his mind wander to what this would bring about, what it could bring about. He didn't let it think about why he was here again in the first place. He didn't let it conspire or assume or predict or infer. He didn't let it think.

Thinking about this whole predicament would get him nowhere good.

Half the year was already over and he was no closer to figuring out what he wanted to do. His life hung in the balance of the single decision, yet he couldn't figure out for the life of him which road he would turn down.

Let the Death Eaters into the castle or don't let them in?

What was it that Dumbledore had said? It was "almost definite" that he'd live. So, Draco assumed, that had to mean that it wasn't a matter of this or that. More like, this with that and that and that and that OR that with this and this and this and this.

In other words, letting them into the castle wouldn't automatically mean he'd live, if that was what he decided to do. It was more like out of the many ways the scenario would play out, there was one in maybe fifty or so where he would die. Nonetheless, this meant forty-nine of the situations would lead to him living. And the same for if he _didn't_ let them into the castle.

Dumbledore had said that what he decided to do was what affected whether or not he survived. There wasn't one set in stone way to do any of it. The casting of one spell, for example, could vastly change the outcome of his life, whether or not it would end in the next twenty minutes or the next twenty years when the time came.

The decision of letting the Death Eaters into the castle _would,_ consequently, be the "deciding factor," but not in the way Draco had thought. It was more like how he acted once he'd made up of his mind that would set everything in motion.

So the headmaster was right. He would almost definitely live.

That was a comforting thought. Yet…what were the events that would lead to his death, given their slim chances of occurring?

He didn't want to know. He couldn't help but think that all of these eerie concepts about his own demise couldn't possibly be good for his health.

" _Harmonia Nectere Passus."_ The words were different on his tongue this time. He'd finally mastered the pronunciation and the correct wand movement, which had been such a relief to him the first time that he had literally fallen on the floor and cried tears of sweet joy. But somehow, the words still felt foreign, which was odd because on a timeline, it had only been about five months since he'd last said them.

They felt heavier in his mouth now. It didn't seem possible, but it was.

Maybe it was because this time, they were sentencing someone else to certain ( _almost certain,_ he reminded himself) death.

He swallowed a lump in his throat.

Draco sighed and his wand arm dropped. He pressed his palms into his eyes, shaking his head slowly. This was too much. He couldn't think about this. Having the topic in his mind for even thirty seconds was enough for the boy to start to panic, and rightly so. He didn't want to sentence someone to death.

But he didn't want to die. What choice did he have?

His hands dropped to his side and he forced his eyes open painfully, for they were now aching from the pressure of his hands.

He wished he could close them again. Granger had finally stepped into his line of sight, a library book slung under one arm.

"Malfoy…" Her voice was stonier than normal. He despised it.

"Granger," he breathed, a word mixed in with slight surprise and aversity. "What are you doing here." It was more of a statement than a question.

"I decided to visit you after all." She frowned slightly. "Would you prefer I hadn't?"

"I'd prefer you tell me," he snapped.

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, you're the one who invited me here, Malfoy. Don't get mad that I decided to show up."

"You said you wouldn't."

"Well," she huffed, "yeah, I changed my mind."

"Then why didn't you warn me?"

"I don't know, I thought you'd be pleasantly surprised!"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Not if you don't tell me first."

Granger let out a harsh laugh. "What difference does it make? Well, clearly a lot, I guess." Her eyes snapped to the vanishing cabinet. "What's all this?"

Draco stepped in front of her eyeline, sending the curtain that covered the cabinet when he was gone over it with a flick of his wand. "'All this' is none of your business."

"Not this _again,_ " she moaned, eyes rolling. "Look. Malfoy. We're _friends_ now, okay? You don't have to clam up and hide things from me. I won't get mad and I won't judge you."

 _That's what you think now. You wouldn't be thinking all that if you knew._

"So please," Granger continued, clearly trying to keep her temper under control. "Just trust me. You can."

He was having none of it. "It's not a matter of trust," he spat out. "You can't know about this."

"And why not?"

"Because…" _Because I don't want you to. In more ways than it seems. I can't have you involved with this._ "Because it's got nothing to do with you."

"So you keep telling me. But you realize that explaining to me why this _thing_ stresses you out so much isn't going to get me involved with it. It'll just get me involved with you, and I can help you through this."

 _You can't be involved with me._

"Granger." Draco turned his back to her, hand rubbing at the spot between his eyes. "In ways, I wish I could explain it to you—"

"Then tell me!" She took a few steps forward, clearly tentative about actually putting her hand on his shoulder. "Please, just tell me what I can do to help you."

"Nothing!" Draco whipped around, molten silver staring into shocked brown. It wasn't exactly anger in his eyes as much as a loud address to what he already knew and what she would never understand. "There's nothing you could do, even if you had any idea of what you were talking about. I'm not telling you. I _can't_ tell you." He took a step back, eyes darting to the right in irritation. "Would you shove off?"

Granger was mad now, flinging her bag and book to the ground a few feet away. "Malfoy, why the hell did you ask me here in the first place, then, if you were going to just yell at me and tell me how useless I am?"

"I don't know!" Fury was coursing through his veins, down his biceps and into his fingertips. He kicked a pile of books, fists clenching as they clattered to the ground. "I thought you could distract me or something. I don't-I don't know. It doesn't matter."

"Malfoy, come on! Friends trust each other! That's what they do. You have to _trust me._ "

"Granger, would you shut the hell up?" They were nose to nose. "You don't own me! You can't make me tell you anything! You talk about trust? Then you need to trust _me._ Can you do that?"

She narrowed her eyes, nostrils flaring. "Malfoy, don't you spin this in your favor—"

He grabbed her arms suddenly, but not harshly. Not like before. No, he would never stop regretting what he had done the first time they were in the Room of Requirement together.

He pulled her closer to him, so that her eyes were as close to his own as possible. "Granger."

She struggled slightly. "Malfoy, I—"

" _Granger."_ He stressed her name, a sort of desperation in his voice. She sensed it. After a moment, she let up on her attempts to get out of his hands. She knew she wasn't in any real danger with him this time.

"Granger, I need you to trust _me."_ The girl glared at him. "I can't tell you, okay? Believe me you, if I could, I would. But I can't. _Trust me_ that I'd spill everything to you if it was possible. It's what I want to do more than anything. But there are reasons I can't. And they're big."

He peered into her eyes. They were still angry. "Do you trust me?"

She didn't say anything, just yanked her arms out of his grasp and took a few steps away. She grabbed her bag and book from the floor and made to leave for the door, but something stopped her. Instead, she resorted to pacing in a circle for a long moment before letting out a harsh growl and collapsing to the floor, arms crossed.

Draco slumped to the ground as well, back against the vanishing cabinet. He watched her, but she refused to meet his stare. Instead, she turned her wand over in her calloused hands again and again, glaring at the intricate patterns on its surface.

After a few minutes, she flicked her wand and watched as small yellow birds appeared, tweeting and flying around her head. There were four of them, twittering and chattering as they explored the small area where the two Hogwarts students now sat.

Draco was entranced. They were so simple, so delicate, yet seemed to embody everything he'd come to know of the girl so far in the year. She was in no way simple or delicate, but it just worked. They were very Granger-esque.

Draco wished he could tell her, he really did. But voicing it would make it too real, and he didn't expect her to react well to the news of him being ordered to kill Dumbledore. How could she?

Truly, there was nothing for him to do. Keeping her uninvolved with the Death Eater issue was keeping her safe.

As for the other issue…that was worse.

No, actually, it wasn't. Why would it be worse when it didn't have to do with her? It didn't. It didn't. It DIDN'T. He was sure of it. Well, he _had_ to be sure of it. There was no way that he would allow himself to believe that she was involved.

They sat in silence for what felt like years, but she finally broke it right when it seemed like there was no hope left for either of them to move past this.

"Tell me something, then." Her words were quiet, almost too quiet to be heard over the birds. "Anything. Something I don't know. Something you _can_ tell me."

Her eyes were finally on him again. He frowned slightly. "Well…what do you want to know?"

She shrugged dejectedly. "Something about you. From Hogwarts. Something only people close to you know about."

There wasn't a lot that he could tell her that didn't entail death or destruction or the Dark Lord. But there was one topic that he could manage to explain to her, something that had been the source of so much torment and pain for him that year.

"You probably wouldn't want to hear about them," Draco started slowly. "But I can tell you about Zabini and Goyle and Crabbe and Parkinson."

Granger was silent.

Draco took this as an okay to begin.

"They were never really true friends, I see that now, but as we were growing up, it was nice to think of them as such. They were someone. Until this year, I've never understood how important having someone—anyone—is.

"Zabini and I used to be close, almost what real friends are, but not quite. It was always a struggle for control between us. We're both from powerful and well-known families, so we were always trying to one up each other. He confided in me, and I him, but it was always laced with the knowledge that what we were learning about the other could one day be held against them. Like a sort of blackmail trading system. It was brutal.

"Crabbe and Goyle…were kind of just there. They gave me the backup I needed without ever asking questions. I know what people used to think of us three, that I was just using them for the muscle and force. That's not entirely true. I was being used, too. I used them for the intimidating presence and they used me for my brains and the image of being close to a Malfoy, something that anyone from Slytherin would love. Well," Draco sighed. "Something anyone _would have_ loved. Not so much anymore.

"And Pansy…" She was more complicated. "That's hard to explain. My parents have always approved of her, which is something to say. When I was younger, that meant a lot, and their approval was as good as mine. Better, actually. If they thought she was good, then I guess I had to as well.

"But recently, ever since fifth year or so, it's been different. Them liking her has made me all but loathe her. I guess it's not even Parkinson's fault, especially because I led her on for so long, but I can hardly stand her. _Could_ hardly stand her when I used to have to talk to her on a daily basis. She could tell, obviously, when things changed for me, and she got more desperate as the days went on. By the end, we couldn't even be in the same room without her attaching herself to me. Which—now that I think about it—is really quite a shame. I used to actually enjoy her company."

Granger hadn't looked at him while he talked until Pansy was brought up. Now she stared at him, not backing down when his own silver gaze met her strong brown one.

"So," she said quietly. "You guys used to…date?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Things were serious?"

He shrugged. "In a sense, but they never got _that_ serious."

Granger nodded. She knew what he was hinting at.

"But now things are completely over," Draco sighed out. "And though the first semester without her, or any of them, had been admittedly rough, I feel better. I needed to finally tell someone everything. Thank you."

He wasn't sure how she'd respond to that, but thankfully she just nodded and gave him a shaky smile. "Anytime. What are friends for?"

 _Friends. Friends._

There was an immense relief removed from his shoulders in that moment. Ignoring a sort of disappointment in his stomach at…something (he wasn't sure what), Malfoy sighed. He'd finally gotten it off his chest. Granger was a godsend in every sense of the word.

Draco got to his feet and walked over to where she sat, taking her hands and pulling her up. Granger slung her bag over her shoulder, finally placing the extra book into it and shutting it. They walked out of the room in silence, Draco closing the door behind them as quietly as he could.

He fully expected her to be gone by the time he turned around, but she was still there, looking at her feet.

He scratched at the back of his neck as a tense silence settled. Should he apologize or thank her again?

But then again, she seemed to have a habit of talking right before he was going to.

"I _do_ trust you, by the way," Granger said.

Draco nodded after a moment. "And I you. Believe me when I tell you I'm sorry."

She shrugged and sighed, trying to relieve some of the stress from her shoulders. "It's fine," she forced out. "We all have our secrets."

Draco smiled and breathed out a laugh. She was right, of course.

She just didn't need to know how big a secret his was, or how catastrophic it would undoubtedly be.

He'd work to make sure she never knew and was never affected by it. That, he promised.

* * *

 **4572 words. Not baaaaaaad, second longest yet.**

 **I actually really like this chapter, it keeps it real but in a progressive way for their relationship.**

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	30. Different

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 **This chapter is basically a filler, sorry, but its still pretty good tbh. Lots of inner torment XD in a good way**

 **Here it is! Enjoy!**

* * *

 _"…_ _yes, he was smart indeed, which meant not even he could run from it for long; his brain and its extensive knowledge would easily beat him down in the race against time with its sword of awareness while he feebly protected his head with the withering shield of ignorance."_

 _~Draco, thinking_

* * *

Things seemed different. They shouldn't; he _knew_ they shouldn't. Why should they?

It was the second or third week of the semester, Draco wasn't sure which, though, because he'd somehow already managed to lose count. Classes were still fine, Potions was still fine, but something somehow felt…different.

Maybe it was all in his mind.

Currently, Draco was sitting at his desk in the corner of Transfigurations, alone as he always was. It didn't bother him now as much as it had before because at least now he wasn't totally alone in the world, and it also gave him space to think without some pathetic sixth year breathing down his neck.

He watched as his quill lazily dragged itself across the top of a blank scrap of parchment, uneven blotches of ink left in its wake like the footsteps of a drunk girl in the snow. He traced the path with his finger, bringing it eye level so that he could examine the grey smudge on the tip with precision.

Different.

That was one way to explain it.

Because to be completely honest, Draco wasn't sure if things even _had_ changed or if he was just imagining things. Maybe she hadn't noticed anything at all and it was just a mirage that his brain had ingeniously sculpted from the farthest and darkest recesses, creases of his mind. Knowing himself, that wasn't exactly out of the picture.

But Granger _was_ known for her intelligence. If he was picking up on something different between them, then she had to have, too, right? It all made perfect sense, and yet also none at all, as if its existence to him could be the exact opposite for her. Did that thought even make sense, either?

None of it was making much in his mind, frankly.

But, if his suspicions were correct—and let's face it, there was no way of knowing—then what had changed? What was he even talking about? Was it bad, good? Were things worse or better than they had been before?

He was probably just crazy, Draco told himself. He'd know if things were different.

Yet at the same time, the fact that he had a hunch only proved his point that he'd know if things were up. Wasn't that exactly what was going on right now?

He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to address in his mind what he thought had changed. He couldn't, he wouldn't.

God, things were just so _confusing_ lately, ever since that day in the Room of Requirement when Granger and he had argued (he refused to call it a fight). And then there'd been peace and she'd smiled, and he'd felt a tug. That damned tug. Why.

No. Nope. No. He wouldn't think about it, all because there was no "it" to think about. He was being insane.

Draco was having an increasingly difficult time at confronting himself with everything that had been occurring, for he was reluctant and didn't want to know, _couldn't_ know for a variety of reasons. The blond Slytherin was much smarter than most gave him credit for, especially since "cunning" and "sly" were the only adjectives usually affiliated with his surname. But yes, he was smart indeed, which meant not even he could run from it for long; his brain and its extensive knowledge would easily beat him down in the race against time with its sword of awareness while he feebly protected his head with the withering shield of ignorance.

Why not face it now?

 _No!_ He glared at the quill as he screamed in his head. _There's nothing to think about! No reason at all to think about…that._

He was a Malfoy, for God's sake. Was he extremely proud of the connotation of the word and the things it symbolized? Not particularly, no, and he wished with all he was that it could change, but he _had_ grown for sixteen years under a roof that hammered the rules of the Malfoy name into his brain so that he would never forget them, or at least not be able to give up the ways of such a powerful family in the blink of an eye.

The relevance? He shouldn't even be friends with Granger. Let alone….Draco shuddered at what his father would do to him if he had known of what he'd just thought.

No. Nothing was different. He shouldn't have even had that previous thought in his mind. It had no right, no significance, no importance.

His head shot upwards as the bell rang, signaling the end of class, and with it the end of Draco's train of thought. Mercifully.

He packed his things away slowly, preferring to leave class last so that no one could catch him in the back with a hex while he wasn't looking. It didn't happen often anymore, but he preferred to take no chances.

Once everyone had left, he sniffed and grabbed his bag, stalking from the classroom and into the daily hustle and bustle of the corridors. Transfigurations was his last period of the day and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed, alone, and read, or possibly finish his homework for the next day.

As he turned left down a hallway, he groaned to see the Weasel and Brown at the end of the passageway, snogging as if they were alone in a broom closet, spacious as it must seem to the blood traitor. He was about to send a scathing remark in their direction, but something caught his eye first.

Granger. She was heading his way but hadn't seemed to notice him. She'd been watching the redhead, face creased in pain and eyes turned down in heartache. Her brown orbs remained on the floor as she hurried away, not even seeing her blond friend, though he could do nothing but stand and watch her go.

He waited to make sure she turned the corner before facing the other Gryffindor and his plaything. He wouldn't get caught this time. Cautiousness was key.

He strolled down the hall in their direction, looking everywhere but where they resided, sounding like a pack of rabid werewolves fighting over a bone. As he passed them, however, he flicked his wand out from beneath his sleeve and shot a spell in their direction.

The sounds of their sloppy make out session almost instantly turned to flurries of panic as they found that they could not pull their lips apart from each other. She screamed, loudly and with frantic gasps, while he grunted from what had to have been a terrible earache. She slapped at him, as if pushing him away from her would somehow undo the magic that had conjoined them together at the lips.

Draco smirked and carried on his path; maybe that would teach them a lesson not to put on such a show of their public displays of affection.

As he made his way towards the Slytherin common room, however, he recalled something, a memory brought about by the sight of Weasley and Brown. They had broken up before because Weasley had drunken poisonous mead, gone to the hospital wing, and then…afterwards, they were just over. Not many people knew the reason why the mead had somehow triggered the end of their relationship, especially not Draco, but after Weaselby's episode of spitting up foam was over, so was the episode that involved him and Brown.

Only it had been _Draco's_ poisonous mead that had caused all of this. Obviously, that mead had never even been delivered into the castle this time.

So that must mean…that the two wouldn't break up. Not yet, anyways.

Things were different.

Why did he care about any of this? Well, if Draco's memory served him right, which it always did, Granger and Weasel had quickly become an item after he'd broken it off with the bimbo. Almost instantly after he had finished snogging up Brown, Weasley and Granger could be seen sitting closer and staring into each other's eyes adoringly. He hadn't needed to be paying attention to notice.

But they were still together, so there was no way that he and Granger would be a thing anytime soon in the year.

He scowled after a moment, turning down the hall that led to the entrance of the Slytherin common room. _Why the hell should I care? I don't give a shit about whether or not he and Granger hook up._

Yet a slice of his brain secretly hoped that the redhead and his plaything kept going out; seeing them together was still more bearable than if he and Granger were dating. As long as he didn't turn to the brunette.

No. He didn't care.

Well, he did, because Weasley was an ass to Draco's _friend_ and the blond would never stand for that. So he'd hate it because he didn't deserve her and she didn't deserve that torment.

Yes, that was it. That was all, the only reason.

After saying the password to the common room and slipping down the short tunnel leading to the area, Draco sneered as he was met with Zabini and Parkinson. Not directly, though. Just the sight of them making out on the couch, things looking as if they were taking a turn for a less PG ending than was school appropriate.

He saw them there, yet he couldn't care less that his ex-girlfriend and ex-best friend were going at it like rabbits. Draco knew he should feel at least a sting but there was nothing. He supposed that that was what happened when you finally and truly let go and moved on.

 _To better people,_ he hardly stopped himself from thinking. No, he wouldn't think that. He couldn't.

Trudging up the stairs to his dorm, Draco was relieved to find it empty. He sighed, falling back onto his bed and trying to keep himself from remembering the way Granger had looked when she lay there, passed out from the exhaustion of New Year's Eve and yet somehow still managing to look peaceful with her fluttering eyelashes and soft breaths. Yes, he kept himself from thinking this.

Looking over at his bedside table, he felt a sudden sadness in his stomach at the photograph that perched there, facing him. Granger and he in Potions, laughing and talking: the present she had given him.

Despite his better judgement, he'd decided to not cast the charm on it that Granger had recommended, the one where only he could see the true picture and anyone else would see something else. He kept it partially hidden behind a lamp and stack of books so that it faced only he, but he felt that charming it would somehow make the beauty of it lessen. It was such a thoughtful gift that he couldn't bear the concept.

Draco rolled to the edge of the bed, grabbing for the parchment that was linked to hers and his quill and bottle of ink. Her latest message, something about a Defense Against the Dark Arts essay from two days ago, was still visible on the front, for it wouldn't disappear until he wrote back.

The tip of the quill, already having been dipped in ink, sat poised above the parchment, ready to write. It was a Chaser on his broom, waiting for the whistle so that the Quidditch game could finally start and he could get some real action.

But that whistle never came. Draco frowned as he realized what he was doing. His hand faltered and the quill slackened in his fingers.

His eyes squeezed shut. No. No. No. No, he was not doing this. No, not now, not ever.

Sighing, he threw the things back into his bag and sat back on his bed, hands covering his face and rubbing at his eyes as he moaned lowly under his breath. He wasn't going to write to her. That would only make things worse.

For some reason, his insides were saddened at his refusal to comply. They _wanted_ to write to her, what was wrong with it?

He was being ridiculous. He couldn't think like this. This needed— _needed—_ to stop.

He ignored how disappointed this made him.

No.

Nothing was different. It couldn't be.

* * *

 **2043 words. Nice variety lately XD**

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	31. 7:00, 6:50

**No quote today, in school and nervous some student will see me posting and be like wtf fanfic? That's lame**

 **So here!**

* * *

January ended in a rush. With its conclusion, February came and with it, the most dreaded "holiday" imaginable to Draco: Valentine's Day.

For some damn reason, the fourteenth day of the second month was always a big deal to the residents within the castle. Every year, the professors came up with a new way to make boyfriends feel obligated to do something romantic, girlfriends to expect these grand gestures, and single people to feel humiliated at their utter loneliness.

Every previous Valentine's Day, Draco had had if not a girlfriend then at least someone, almost always Pansy. This time would be his first alone.

And for some reason, 1997's Valentine's Day seemed to exist solely to put all other celebrations to shame. It was odd, really, because before, during Draco's first 1997, it hadn't been a big deal at all, but something was very, very different this time around.

Corridors were strewn with twirling streamers, larger than life hearts, and confetti that was perpetually falling. The word "decorated" would never suffice in describing how the Great Hall looked, for it was as if giant paint bubbles of red, pink, and silver had exploded and drenched the room in too bright colors. Not a square inch of the castle had been spared, except perhaps the library, which was more subtly—or boringly—ornamented with little paper cut outs.

Conceivably, it was because Dumbledore knew for a fact that it was his last Valentine's Day and he wanted to go out with a bang. Needless to say, he achieved his intended effect.

But it seemed that the excess amounts of lovey-dovey decorations weren't enough for Dumbledore, no, not at all. He had to do something BIG. Something that would get the whole school talking.

Never underestimate the headmaster.

Draco had been sitting in Transfigurations when he heard about the dance. A masquerade. On the fourteenth, obviously, as fit the mood.

He had been the opposite of ecstatic, which was what the entire population of females in the castle currently were. It had taken McGonagall a solid three minutes to quiet their excited squeals at the news.

The one consolation was that only fifth through seventh years were allowed to attend, so it wasn't exactly a free for all.

Draco still doubted that he'd be going as it was.

The week of the dance was upon them soon. The system of asking others out worked like this: little notes were sent through flying, singing, obnoxious cupids, who could interrupt any class at any time to deliver such messages. Technically, the guy or girl could do the asking, but it was implied that the guys were to do it.

Draco couldn't get through an entire day in any class without having at least five of these messages disrupting his thinking. Once had been in Defense Against the Dark Arts, where Snape had looked positively livid that Zabini had had the galls to ask Parkinson in _his_ class, of any of them. Once the note had been transferred into the hands of Pansy, Snape had sent a rather bright hex at the cupid and barely flinched as it let out a bloodcurdling screech and exploded into a thousand pieces of confetti.

For such an extravagant and admittedly harmless looking burst of decorations, it had sounded rather agonizing. No one spoke much for the rest of the hour.

That was the only time Draco enjoyed the cupids. It had given him a class period of silence.

And Pansy had looked sickened, too. That was nice.

. . . ….. . . .

Wednesday: three days before Valentine's Day and with it, the dance.

Hermione sat next to Harry as per usual in Charms. Still on switching spells, which was easily Hermione's favorite unit thus far in Charms, the class had moved on to more complex forms of the incantation. This new spell's purpose was to switch the positions of two people instantaneously; it was considerably more difficult than just _Que Ex Transuerso_ , which just replaced one object with another.

But "difficult" was not a word in Hermione Granger's vocabulary.

She mastered it much sooner than any other student.

Class was wrapping up when another one of those infernal cupids came shooting into the room, singing in a high-pitched voice as tiny red heart-shaped bubbles floated in its wake.

" _Valentine's has come,_

 _Yes, the day is here._

 _So please be mine,_

 _Be mine, my dear."_

The cupid shot arrows around the room as several girls giggled in anticipation, obviously hoping that the cupid and its intention was for them.

They pouted in disappointment when the flying baby landed on Lavender Brown's desk, bowing deeply as it handed her a crimson note. The girl didn't even read it, just screamed in excitement and launched herself out of her desk, flinging herself into Ron's waiting arms.

They didn't even try to be discreet about making out.

"Yes, I'll go with you to the dance!" she squealed excitedly, jumping up and down. "I was wondering how long it would take you to…."

But she trailed off after a moment, her attention being caught, as was everyone else's. It had started quietly at first, the tweeting. It was soft, almost inaudible, but as the small yellow bird flittered into the room, its song was the only thing that anyone could hear.

The bird glided in the air, high above everyone's heads as it performed gracious and simple loops, doing so in an effortless way that made Hermione think it came as easily to the creature as breathing.

The room was silent aside from its twittering. The students were too confused and entranced to do much other than just watch.

Hermione knew it was for her before it landed on her desk. The yellow bird stared her in the eyes, head tilting slightly after a moment.

It was one of the most anticipation-charged silences she'd ever experienced as the Charms class waited, expecting.

Thirty seconds passed before the animal's beak opened and a message was delivered. "Meet at Christmas night. Seven."

And just like that, the bird puffed out of existence, the only thing to hint that it had ever been there in the form of a small yellow feather.

Silence for a split second, then chaos. "Hermione? What was that?" "The bloody hell?" "How come _she_ didn't get a cupid?" "Why the hell didn't _my_ boyfriend do that? He could've been original!"

Hermione was embarrassed that everyone had had to witness it. It did help, though, that Ron was looking absolutely enraged at the front of the room, ignoring Lavender as she tried to grab for his attention.

"What," Harry started slowly, pulling Hermione away from watching Ron's growing anger, "was that?"

"I have no idea."

Of course, this was a complete lie. She knew _exactly_ what it meant, who it was from, what she was supposed to do.

But she would never tell Harry that.

. . . ….. . . .

Seven o'clock that night took much longer to arrive than Draco would've preferred. He sat in the Room of Requirement, which had transformed into a small room with several couches, a small coffee table, and a roaring fire in the fireplace. He didn't need anything grandiose; why would he?

He just hoped she understood what he'd meant by "Meet at Christmas night. Seven." It wasn't the most obvious because he didn't want anyone to know other than her, but she was a smart witch, so he was sure she'd figure it out.

Draco was lazily spread out on one of the black leather couches, one leg splayed over the side of the backrest, as he checked his watch. 7:00. Hmm. Maybe she _hadn't_ understood.

But before the minute hand could find its way to the one, Granger snuck into the room, closing the door behind her after making sure that no one had seen her enter. She smiled at Draco, falling into a chair next to his sofa.

"Malfoy," she greeted. "Funny seeing you here. I was expecting someone entirely different."

"Oh, were you, now?" He rolled his eyes, smirking. There was no other person it could possibly have been. He doubted many other people had seen those birds that she was so good at conjuring.

It had taken him quite a while to figure out how to enchant them, actually. It was much harder than he'd thought it'd be.

"Mm, actually, no," she admitted. "It was you. Obviously. But no one else thought so, so I applaud you for that."

"Good." It hadn't been a worry of his.

"So…" Granger trailed off, fingers dancing on the armrest. "What about that dance, huh?"

Draco groaned and slouched even further in his chair. "Don't even get me started."

"Thank you!" she exclaimed. "So…imbecilic! I mean I guess the idea's cute and all but it's so exclusive, in a way. A Valentine's Day dance is a surefire way to get the school's population of singles to hate their very existence."

He wondered if that was how she felt or if she was just stressing to make a point. Either way, as an equally single student, he found himself partially agreeing with the statement.

"I wonder if Dumbledore is going to have a riot on his hands before long," he scoffed. "Especially since first through fourth years can't attend."

"Smart of him to have an age limit, really," Granger commented. "Things might get a little crazy, even with teachers chaperoning."

That was true. Even though this was a school of magical shenanigans and mischief, that didn't change the fact that most of the people attending were teenagers. As angsty as they could be, they were growing and achy and _hormonal._ That paired with loud music, thrashing bodies, and close proximity to other people was not a great combination. They were _teenagers._

"But," Granger added. "I suppose it could be fun. At least it's a break from the usual doldrum of school, I suppose."

Draco smirked. "That's true. _And_ a masquerade. Are you just _dying_ to trick Weasley into dancing with you?"

Granger gawked in fake horror. "I retch! What an awful idea."

"Don't deny, it crossed your mind."

Her rolled eyes was as much a confirmation as he needed.

"As it is," Draco continued. "We're both single—sad and pathetic"—he sighed melodramatically—"and so I think it makes the utmost of sense for us to go together, that is, if you want to go at all?"

Granger tried to bite back a smile. She looked at him, eyebrows raising in pretend shock. "Why, if I didn't know better, it sounded as if you were asking me to the Valentine's Day dance!"

"Oh, no, that's crazy."

"Just preposterous."

"Insane."

"Well." Granger sighed, feigning confusion and sadness. "If you _had_ been asking me, I guess I would've said yes. But you're Malfoy, so that's ridiculous."

"The most ridiculous."

"Oh, absolutely."

"And," Draco carried on for her. "If you'd have said yes, I'd have told you to me at 6:50 the night of the dance right here, in the Room of Requirement, so that we could go down together."

"How absurd."

" _Quite_ absurd."

"If you'd been asking, it would make sense. It'd be the one time we could actually hang out _in public,_ given our disguises were good enough…but that's honestly very funny that I thought you'd been asking in the first place."

"Hilarious, really."

They sat for a moment, smiling or smirking at the other as the words sank slowly into the leather of the couches and the crackles of the fire. There was silence, aside from the flames, and it was nice, for a change, as if the lack of noise was not forced or needed or despised. It simply was, and that was something different yet welcomed all the same.

"So…." He finally broke through the sound of silence. "6:50, then?"

She smiled.

"6:50."

* * *

 **1984\. nice**

 **No time to talk, posting this in school and I feel very nervous that someone will catch me**

 **REVIEW**

 **Love you lots!**


	32. Anonymity Protects Against Retribution

**I usually post prewritten chapters at 3pm, but I've been having a bad day so I'm posting it early. Anyways, please read the bolded words right down here...**

 **IMPORTANT: look up "sweetheart chiffon mermaid dark green formal dress" on google images to see Hermione's dress. It should be the first one, but it also shows up about a million times. It is INCREDIBLY important to me that you all picture the dress in the same way as I do XD sorry not sorry!**

 **Also: there is some more explicit language in this chapter, just a heads up!**

 **Go follow me on Instagram! My username is whisperblaze_luvs_dramione!**

 **Long chapter today, guys, longest yet! I think it's really good, though, so enjoy! * _hint_ *: be sure to remember what switching spells are; they aren't canon but they're pretty important in this story!**

 **Now, the dance! ALSO PLEASE REVIEW, THANKS!**

* * *

 _"_ _The brightest witch of the age was a bit lacking on social cues."_

 _~Draco, thinking_

* * *

There was something so extremely elementary and juvenile to the thought of a dance that it seemed right out of place in such a world, a world doomed to spiral into insanity within the coming year. It was unnatural and shouldn't have even been a conceivable idea.

Yet there stood Draco, dressed in his finest attire, albeit fidgeting as if uncomfortable from the color choice that he didn't quite agree with. Was it smart to be wearing black and scarlet dress robes over his crisp white button down? Of course; no one would suspect Draco Malfoy of anyone to be sporting clothes of the shade of his abhorred enemy house. But if they would help conceal his identity from the prying eyes of Hogwarts's students, then so be it.

The addition of a gloriously large mask didn't hinder this effect; the red mask was so huge that it covered everything but his hair, mouth, and obviously eyes. Still, he disapproved of the color, but could begrudgingly understand.

Admittedly, he was nervous, if not because he was going with Granger (because why should he be nervous? Preposterous.) then because it was his first time with her in public. They were taking a huge risk, even if they had agreed on different measures to remain as anonymous as possible. Still, masquerades weren't always as nameless as most people wished; there was a good chance they could still be identified.

6:49.

She never could be early, could she?

His feet made a pattering sound as they echoed around the Room of Requirement, which was empty save the few couches and small but dead fireplace. Draco's eyes connected with his shiny shoes, surveying them with hard concentration as he searched for anything to do while he waited, settling on trying to see his reflection on their reflective surfaces.

6:50.

There was a creak of a door and sudden gasps, heavy breathing, as the entrance was closed once more. Draco turned, making to smirk mockingly at the girl, but stopped dead.

It wasn't Granger who had entered the room.

At least, it couldn't possibly be.

The panting girl who stood before Draco was unrecognizable in every sense of the word. She wore a dark green (as was their agreement), strapless sweetheart neckline mermaid trumpet dress. It was skin tight from the top until mid-thigh, where it ruffled outwards in a very large arc, giving her a radius of several flowing feet, looking as if the girl stood on and was engulfed by a living waterfall of spring. The dress had a slit so high that Draco's eyes were drawn to it instinctively despite the sliver of his mind that told him to ignore it, and his molten orbs traced up its length from the floor to where it ended at her hip, barely two inches short of where all would be revealed. Black and silver swirls twirled around the bodice, drawing attention to the emerald that the girl had charmed onto the very front of the dress, an emerald with a small, hissing snake engraved on it.

His emerald. His gift. It was a nice touch, very Slytherin.

The dress flowed out behind her as she walked, accentuating the curve of her body and the slight swaying of her hips. It flaunted her shape in such a _hypnotizing_ way, a way that was amazing, baffling, terrible. The girl wore a black and silver mask, quite a small one, really, hardly covering just her eyes and a small part of her forehead and cheeks, which would have been problematic to the concealment of her true identity had it none been for her hair.

The hair. Unreal. She had done it up in an intricate knot, one that gathered at the back of her head and cascaded down her spine. But the astonishing thing was this: the locks were no longer of curly brunette, but a bright blonde, the exact same shade as Draco's hair. Along with this, her face no longer sported the small spray of freckles that usually dotted it, instead taking on a creamy complexion. Her normally pale pink lips were a dark burgundy and her chocolate eyes were strikingly blue.

No, this could not be Granger.

 _But who else could look this—_

He didn't allow himself to finish the thought.

Granger, still panting slightly, grinned at his stunned expression, arms out to gesture to her form, giving a twirl quickly and laughing.

"Not bad, huh?" Her voice had a rasp in it from her exhaustion, yet amusement at his expression.

"Not bad at all," he admitted, blinking away his surprise. "Er—why so breathless?"

She rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. "Harry and Ginny. I didn't dare get ready while anyone was in the dorms, so I had to wait for them to leave. Yet they were waiting for _me_ so that we could all go down together, so I had to tell them I might not go." She groaned. "Then they tried convincing me and I just lied and—" She cut herself off. "Anyways, the brief synopsis is that I was almost late to meet you and I had to hurry."

Draco stifled a smile. She was nothing if not punctual and dedicated to it.

"Typical Granger."

She scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. Now hold still."

Before he could even react to her statement, her wand was out and pointed at his head. Or rather, hair. A sudden sensation, not entirely unwelcome, washed over his scalp, like heat and cold mixed together pleasantly. It was over in less than two seconds.

She smiled, pleased with herself. "There."

Draco tentatively reached up, running a hand through his hair over the top of his mask. It felt slightly wavy, fluffy, with a certain softness not present before.

"You just couldn't resist," he sighed, "turning my famous Malfoy hair into a dark brown head of curls like your own, could you?"

"Oh, of course not," Granger said. "But anyways, it'll help conceal your identity. No one would expect you to have almost black hair, and no one would think I'd ever be blonde, so it's as good as foolproof. Besides," she added with a jump of her eyebrows above her now blue eyes. "You don't look half bad."

"Was that almost a compliment?"

"Mmm, no. More like an insult to how you usually look."

"Well I'm flattered nonetheless."

She laughed and shook her head as a small smile played across his face. He was fine that she changed his hair, preferred it, even, if it ensured his anonymity, but was thankful she hadn't touched his eyes. He quite liked his steel orbs.

He cleared his throat overdramatically, shaking out his left sleeve and holding out his arm for her. "Shall we?"

She rolled her eyes yet smiled. "We shall."

She linked her arm through his and the two exited the room, leaving it behind as they walked down the hall. Her high heels clicked a beat on the floors while his shoes dully sounded the off beats. Somehow without a melody, a harmonious song came from the combination of the Gryffindor in green and the Slytherin in bright red. It was so backwards in such a world and in such a school where loyalties and unfounded prejudices seemed to reign supreme that had a student witnessed it, they'd have been shocked beyond comprehensible words.

But this was the night of the fourteenth of February, the Valentine's Day dance, and as a masquerade, no one would ever understand the significance of such a public display. Hopefully no one would even pay them any mind at all.

When the two arrived at the Great Hall, however, this wish could not also be satisfied. Their identities were kept secret, which was a relief as they arrived so fashionably late, for no one began to shout their names or approach them in familiarity, but the attention was on them. Almost instantly.

Everyone was paying them mind.

Who were the two strangers standing in the entrance, looking so mysterious yet oddly enchanting? She wore a dark green dress, so she must have been a Slytherin, yet what Slytherin girl had that hair, those eyes, those lips? And he—who was _clearly_ a Gryffindor—why was he with a Slytherin? Never mind that, who even _was_ he? The hair looked familiar, but not on any _guy_ from the school.

Draco smirked; he had missed this sort of attention. It had been a while.

As he gazed around, he was pleased to see that Granger and he had captured the essence of a Masquerade the best of any student around them. Of all the students, not a single one of them was unrecognizable. Hell, some of them weren't even wearing masks.

They stood out simply because no one had any clue of who they were.

Though, of course, it didn't hurt that Granger had the most breathtaking dress of anyone there. Who had known she had such a great body? Not that he cared, just that it was impossible to not notice. Because wow. Wow. She cleaned up quite well.

She chuckled softly next to Draco, looking up at him with bright blue eyes. "I think we've made quite the entrance."

"We?" He scoffed. "I think you mean _you."_

She shrugged. "I'll take credit where I deserve it."

"So you're taking it, then?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly and she smirked. "We'll see."

She led him across the floor, pulling on his hand slightly, amazingly ignoring the gawking stares of the many guys around her as their eyes sought out her legs from the slit in the fabric. They didn't even try to hide their gazes, as if they thought the booming music and low lighting would mask their eyes. Unfortunately, the dance environment did this no better than the pathetic excuses for disguises that they wore on their faces.

Draco shot daggers at his classmates as he followed Granger, even going as far as sneering at a few passerby who dared to do anything other than look on in jealousy. Anyone who crossed him would be sorry.

They reached the punch table and Granger audibly sighed in relief as things seemed to pick back up on the dance floor and people stopped staring, though many curious gazes were still shot their way frequently. "Well, we're here."

Draco nodded, still glaring around at the people surrounding him. He may enjoy the attention, but the sudden interest in him was unsettling; it had been so long since anyone had even looked his way that he was now paranoid at even eye contact with any random student. Could they tell that it was him?

Granger sensed his unease and made him up a glass of punch. He took it from her stiffly, and she frowned.

"Hey, are you okay?"

His jaw clenched as he still refused to meet her eyes. "Yeah, I think. Just…."

He didn't need to finish for her to understand. "Don't worry about anything, okay? No one knows. If they did, Harry and Ron would already be here, talking my ears off. You know how annoying they can be."

She laughed quietly, but the jibe at her friends didn't seem to help lighten his mood. Draco was too nervous about this. Why had he thought it'd be a good idea?

 _Stop thinking about it. Just have fun._

 _But what if someone finds out?_

Granger tugged on his shoulder, waking him from his daze. "Hey."

He looked down at her, molten silver meeting unnaturally clear sky. She blinked slowly, then smiled. It was nice, a calming presence in the mass hysteria of the room and its achingly loud music. He smiled back.

She grinned wider at this, seeing that he was finally lightening up a bit. "Let's have some fun, okay?"

He nodded. "Okay."

They made their way onto the dance floor, doing their best to pay no mind to the many curious gazes thrown in their direction. Granger laughed, pulling at his sleeve and drawing him closer to the center of the group.

He was a bit reluctant, but it was funny to see her let loose a bit. The school bookworm, letting her hair down and dancing in the Great Hall? Who would have thought?

She stayed by him, jumping and singing at the top of her lungs, urging him to dance as the bodies around them thrashed and moved to the music that coursed through their veins. The lights cut through the darkness of the room, slicing through so sharply that it was surprising that they didn't leave burn marks on Granger as they swept across her hair and dress. She just looked up into his eyes and laughed.

"Come on! This is a dance!" she shouted to him over the deep bass, shaking her head as he leaned in to try to hear her better.

"What was that?" he yelled. "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of hormonal teenagers and bad music."

She smiled, still jumping. "Dance!"

It was quite a funny scene to behold, really. She was dancing (terribly, Draco noted), bright blonde hair slowly becoming undone on her head as her burgundy lips moved to the lyrics. An awkward distance away was Draco, arms crossed and looking very much out of place as he stood stiffly, regarding her with thinly veiled amusement behind a crimson façade.

The girl grabbed for his hands, which he relinquished willingly, swallowing a laugh as she pulled on them and tried to get him to move along with her. He allowed himself a step or two in her direction, eyes rolling in exasperation as her voice broke through the night and made its way to his ears. He distantly thought that even in the pandemonium of the dance, and even while screaming the words loudly and out of tune, she didn't have a terrible voice.

"I'm confused!" she shouted to him.

"Hmm, and why's that?"

Granger pulled him closer, hands on his shoulders while she swayed, not as violently as before. "Why did you ask me to the dance if you aren't even going to _dance_ in the first place?"

He shrugged, smirking. "Probably just to see you make a fool out of yourself."

Her jaw dropped in an overly hurt gasp of surprise. "Why, I'm shocked! How could _my_ partner be so cruel? That's such a Malfoy thing to say, and I'm quite certain you aren't him! I mean, you don't even _look_ like Malfoy, so how could you be?"

She smiled as he shook his head in bemusement. "You're right, aren't you?"

"I always am."

"Well then," Draco said lowly, dropping his head so that it was closer to her ear, ensuring no one would overhear their conversation. "If you're so sure who I'm not, why don't you tell me who I _am?"_

She bit her lip and laughed, shoulders shaking slightly. Draco just kept looking at her, head tilted in question, as he sought out an answer from her.

"I think I'll have to get back to you on that one," she admitted.

"Well, unlike you, I know _exactly_ who my partner is."

"Oh, really?" Granger yelled. "And who's that?"

Draco looked about for a moment, finding confirmation in the multiple glares he received from various guys. "My partner is the most sought-after girl in this school."

Her electric blue eyes widened, minutely softening at the comment yet also becoming clouded in confusion. "I…Wha-what do you mean?"

Draco rolled his eyes. So maybe she hadn't been ignoring the stares, just been oblivious to them.

"Granger," he said, mouth closer to her ear once again, the music continuing to pound at his eardrums. "Have you really not noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

Wow. The brightest witch of the age was a bit lacking on social cues.

He sighed. "Granger, every guy in this room is gawking at you. Coupled with the mystery of who you are, that dress is doing you wonders."

She turned a bit red. "Well, you aren't doing too shabby yourself."

"Meaning?"

She scoffed. "Look at the girls, Malfoy."

His head shot up from where it had been resting by her neck, eyes searching the room again. Now that he was looking, he noticed several different girls sending him once-overs and gazes filled with interest. He somehow hadn't noticed it before.

"Mhmm," Granger hummed softly in amusement. "Didn't see _that,_ now, did you?"

He chuckled. "I guess we both missed some things."

Before she could say anything else, the music shifted dramatically, and a slower tempo began to play. Instinctively, Granger and Draco began to slow dance, not even noticing that they'd become so comfortable with each other that it was no longer weird to be so close.

Granger's head rested easily on his shoulder, and Draco paid it little attention. He was fine with just swaying slightly and not talking; his voice was somehow already hoarse from yelling in the previous noise of the hall.

He did, however, pay attention to his surroundings when Granger's back accidentally made contact with another dancer's. She turned to apologize, coming face to face with—

 _Saint Potter._ Draco's expression immediately turned into a grimace.

But the black-haired boy didn't even recognize her. "Sorry," he said quickly, hardly giving her a second glance before turning back to Weaslette.

Obviously, Granger recognized Potter, for his disguise could hardly be called one, and she shot Draco a quick look before turning back to her friend. She tapped on his shoulder, smiling at his confused look when he looked at her.

"Harry," she whispered. "It's me."

It took too long for him to put two and two together, but when he did, his face lit into surprise and happiness. "Hermione!" he whispered excitedly.

"Hermione?" his dance partner said, thankfully not loud enough for anyone else to overhear. "Wait, _Hermione?!"_

The Gryffindor grinned. "Is it really so shocking?"

"Of course!" Weasley grinned ecstatically. "You look amazing! Every guy in this room has been staring at you. And every girl, too, but out of jealousy of how perfect you look." She raised her hand with a smile. "Guilty."

Granger laughed. "Well, thanks!"

Harry embraced her, looking down at her dress, a small frown crossing his face at the sight of the emerald with the snake on it. "But…why green?" Good. He didn't mention it.

"Oh," Granger started slowly. "I, er—"

"Oh, Harry, don't be silly," Weaslette chastised with a roll of her eyes. "Just because it's a _Slytherin_ color doesn't mean she can't wear it. You look amazing!" she added to Granger. "We'll see you around, okay? Harry, come on, let's finish the slow dance."

Potter turned to Granger and smiled. "We'll talk later! I'm glad you decided to come!"

Before he turned back to his girlfriend, however, he finally looked at Draco, eyes narrowing in confusion as he tried to decipher who could be behind that extravagant mask. His green eyes stared straight into Draco's silver ones, shock and confusion shooting through them as they saw the lack of color within their depths. How many students at Hogwarts had silver eyes?

But this all happened within a split second, and Potter clearly didn't care enough to voice his misgivings, instead just turning to continue dancing with his girlfriend. Maybe he'd question Granger later.

Any way it was, Draco was off put. If anyone could recognize him, it was Potter; surely, he'd memorized the hatred in his eyes from witnessing it so many times.

The slow dance ended and as the music picked up again, Draco pulled Granger from the dance floor. "Let's take a break for now."

She didn't protest, just nodded. "If you get us a table, I'll go get some more punch."

They parted ways, Draco heading off in the opposite direction and sitting at a secluded looking table. He didn't think it was necessary to be in everyone's eyesight, especially when so many people seemed to be seeking them out.

He sat with his hands folded, watching them to keep his eyes from scanning the hall, but was forced to look up at the sound of footsteps. He almost called out a greeting to Granger but ceased his voice but a half second before the name had left his lips.

Instead of Granger, it was the Weasel who was stomping his way angrily towards Draco, face almost as red as his hair. Potter trailed behind him, looking guilty, and Draco scowled. Scarhead just couldn't keep his trap shut, could he? He just _had_ to go and tell Weaselby that the beautiful blonde had been Hermione.

Now, Weasel was fuming and ready to just about bite the head off of her "date."

Potter and the redhead's partners were gone from the picture, probably off on the dance floor and completely oblivious to the heated discussion that would most definitely take place.

"Hey, you!" Weasel shouted, hardly trying to keep his voice down. It was a good thing that the music was so excruciatingly loud.

Draco turned to him with a bored look on his face. "Yes?"

Weasel towered over him where he sat, trying to look bigger than he was. "Who the hell are you?"

"Why the hell do you care?" Draco shot back.

Weaselby narrowed his eyes. "Because I want to know what makes you think it's okay for you to take my best friend to the dance."

He scoffed. "Just because _you_ didn't ask her doesn't mean I can't."

Weasel turned redder than he already was. "That has nothing to do with it."

"Oh, okay then. I guess there's nothing to it, then, and it doesn't matter. Goodbye."

Draco turned back around, but Weasley grabbed his shoulder roughly. The Slytherin sneered and stood immediately, shoving him away.

"Don't touch me," he growled lowly.

"Then tell me who you are."

"Ron," Potter tried to interject, taking a step forward. "Look, I really don't think—"

"You don't think it matters who Hermione came here with?" the boy snapped, glaring at his friend. "Oh, okay Harry, never mind then."

"That's not what I—I mean I think that Hermione has good enough judgement to pick who she came with without us needing to know."

"Yeah," Weasley said angrily. "You're right. I'm sure she has _great_ judgement. So it shouldn't matter if we know. Come on, mate," he said, turning back to Draco with eyes narrowed. "Tell us your name and we'll leave you alone."

"Mmm," Draco started, head tilting in a condescending manner. "But doesn't that ruin the point of a masquerade?"

Weasley visibly bristled. "It's comments like those that make me not trust this bloke."

Draco couldn't help poking fun at him. He took a step away from the table, arms spreading out in question. "What's not to trust?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that no one here knows who you are. For all we know, you could be…uh, Malfoy!"

Wasn't that coincidental. But he was a great actor, and so he laughed it off. "Malfoy, ha! He'd be lucky to even get a _look_ at my date!"

Weasley's fists balled. "You don't deserve to call her your date! Hermione is greater than you'll ever be."

Draco shot him a look. "You don't even know who I am, so how could you say that?"

"It doesn't matter," he shouted loudly, drawing the attention of several dancers, "who you are! You don't deserve Hermione!"

"I don't think _you_ of all people can tell me that I don't deserve her!"

The commotion on the side of the room created a sudden interest in the scuffle. It started with a few meandering souls who started listening to the fight, but soon, the majority of the dance mob had shifted their attentions to the fighting boys.

Draco looked to the punch bowl where Granger was still talking to Weaslette, somehow unaware of the growing crowd of people surrounding what was supposed to be their dinner table.

He wasn't sure if he preferred her to not witness it or if he wanted her to come break it up. Then again, this was a chance for him to finally give Weasel a piece of his mind with virtually no repercussions.

"Oh really?" Weasel snarled, forcing Draco from his thoughts. "And why can I not tell you that you don't deserve her?"

Draco straightened, earning back a but of his gusto. "Because you never have."

The Gryffindor's nostrils flared. "You have no right or place to say such a thing."

"Ha!" Draco let out a burst of laughter. "Really, stop making me laugh. You're about as far from deserving of her as anyone I can think of!"

"And why is that?" He was becoming angrier. This only fueled Draco.

"You ignore her," he stated, beginning to count off on his fingers. "You make fun of her. You make her do your work. You underappreciate her."

The other boy opened his mouth to interject, but Draco continued. "You've been 'friends' with her for almost six years, now, and it seems like the only time you've ever been appreciative of her was when she's saved your sorry ass."

Weaselby's hand twitched at his side. "You'd better watch your mouth."

"Or what?" Draco pushed. "You'll what? Give me the silent treatment like you did for her? Get mad at me and refuse to look me in the eye for several weeks at a time?"

Weasel snarled. "You seem to 'know' a lot about Hermione."

"I know more than you do, for sure!"

"That's not true."

"Oh, it is. She _trusts_ me. We actually talk and I don't take her for granted like you. I don't use her and I don't hurt her. That's all it seems that you're good for around here."

"I don't hurt her!" He was turning defensive.

"That's a bloody lie," Draco seethed, not caring that the entire room was now crowded around him. "You've torn her heart out, you worthless excuse for a wizard. And you don't even give enough of a damn to pay attention!" His arms flung out to his side. "And that's because you're a selfish prick of a friend."

"You'd better shut it right now, I'm warning you!" Weasley yelled, fury emanating from his very being. "I'm telling you!"

"Worse yet," Draco pushed, "is that she still cares, and no matter what I tell her, I don't think she'll ever see you for what you are: a narrow-minded asshole whose selfish ways have gotten in the way of _her_ happiness."

He was enraged. "One more word, I swear—"

"Weasley, you piece of shit, listen here," Draco growled, voice dropping an octave and reverberating around the room lowly. "You will _never_ be able to make it up, because in choosing Brown over her, you ruined your chances. No matter what you do, no matter what you say, no matter how you act, you will _never_ be good enough. You're fucking _worthless_ in comparison to her."

Weasley's wand was pointed at his chest faster than humanly possible. " _Baubillious!"_ The word ripped from his lungs in an infuriated shriek, and as Draco's eyes shut in preparation for the pain that the bright yellow bolt would undoubtedly bring, he wondered if—perhaps—he'd gone a bit too far.

It was still worth it.

But after a solid five seconds of standing with his eyes squeezed shut and no contact with the hex, Draco realized that maybe something had gone amiss. He blinked open his molten orbs, only to be met with his own confusion.

He was no longer at the center of the crowd, but by the punchbowl, standing next to a shocked Ginny Weasley. A loud unanimous gasp came from the mob, which backed up from something in the center of its depths.

 _Wait—_

What had happened?

Draco could hardly move in his bewilderment, instead gazing at the crowd, peering around the many bodies to see what they were staring at. There, crumpled on the floor where he had previously been standing not fifteen seconds before, was a mass of dark green cloth and bright blonde hair, shaking and twitching in what could only be pure agony. Weasley stood a few feet off, mouth agape in shock and disbelief.

It all clicked at once in Draco's mind as panic filled him up.

 _Damn Granger! Her and her switching spells!_

He wasted no time in rushing to her side, taking her face in his hands and staring into her eyes, his own looking wildly frightened.

"H-Hermione?!" Weasley stuttered out behind him, taking a step closer to her.

"Stay away!" Draco shouted immediately in rage. "Don't you dare take another step!"

He gathered the fallen girl into his arms quickly, ignoring Weaselby's rushed apologies and blubbered gasps of shock. Draco ran from the room, ignoring the stares and calls of the students behind him.

Granger whimpered loudly, twitching violently as tears streamed down her face. Her eyes were forced shut and she refused to open them. Draco felt a terrible sense of guilt, yet also a sort of annoyance that _of course_ she had to go and save him from the punishment that he almost deserved. It was so like her.

"Damn you, Granger," he said softly, though not without softness and a sort of sad amusement. "Can't just let me handle my own problems."

Maybe it was in his mind, but she seemed to relax slightly at his voice. A tiny smile was on her burgundy lips, and he couldn't help but swallow at the sight.

"It's okay," he hushed her as he turned a sharp corner, paying no attention to the pain in his lungs at running so hard with the extra weight in his arms. "You'll be okay. It's all okay."

The hospital wing was up ahead, and he let out a breath of relief at the sight of Madam Pomfrey as he burst into the large room. Her eyes turned from dull surprise into horror as she took in Granger's condition, immediately hurrying him to settle her onto a bed.

"Good lord, my boy," she whispered as she checked her conditions quickly. "What ever happened?"

"Baubillious. It wasn't even—it wasn't even meant for her, but she-she got hit and—" He ran a hand through his brown hair, stress making him nervous. Distantly he realized he was overreacting, but he didn't give two shits about it either way.

"It's okay, son," Madam Pomfrey consoled, noticing but not seeming to care that she had no idea who he was. "I can fix her, just don't distract me. You'd better go, I can take it from here."

Draco nodded, swallowing. He had done all he could do, yet he still felt guilty. He didn't want to leave, didn't feel right about it, especially since it was partially his fault she was here in the first place.

But he didn't dare disobey Madam Pomfrey. He sent one last look at Granger before stalking from the wing, hands clasped behind his neck in worry.

As he exited the doors, he was met head on by Potter and Weasel. Draco scowled, eyes narrowing in hatred.

"How—" Weasley started, face screwed up in worry. "How is she?"

Draco balled up a fist, punching the redhead straight in the face without a moment's hesitation. The pain in his knuckles hardly registered over the satisfaction he felt at the sound of Weasel's whimper of pain as he stumbled back several feet, hand flying to his nose. His eyes shot to Draco's, anger but also culpability clear in his gaze.

"She'd be better if she didn't have _you_ as a friend," Draco growled. He stalked away from the two Gryffindors before either could say anything to him.

Yet the pleasure he felt at putting his fist in Weasel's face didn't do much to quench his worry. Granger would be alright, that he was sure of, but the guilt he felt in his stomach made him wonder if _he'd_ ever get over it.

Draco shook his head as he headed towards the Slytherin common room. Would Granger ever stop fighting his battles? Taking his punishments? Saving his life?

Paying for his own mistakes?

He rubbed at his eyes.

He could only hope so.

* * *

 **5359 words. I think that's the longest chapter I've ever written.**

 **Ugh so its 11:36pm when I'm writing this and I have school tomorrow but it's fine, it's fine.**

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	33. Discussions and Denial

**Things are really starting to pick up soon enough! XD this chapter is kiiiiinda a step in the wrong direction for Dramione, because I gotta keep it realistic, but it's also a step in the** ** _right_** **direction. Idk, you'll see what I mean.**

 **Also, I really friggin' love the quote of the day today. It took me like over a minute to write, but it's so aesthetically pleasing to me for some reason.**

 **Anyways, enjoy as usual and PLEASE REVIEW!**

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 _"_ _The repetition of a belief appropriately influences decision, after all, deriving inflexibility on a certain topic or viewpoint."_

 _~Draco, thinking_

* * *

February 16th: the Monday after the dance.

Needless to say, the school was buzzing with drama after the Saturday's events. It wasn't every day, after all, that an equally mystifying and stunning girl was unmasked to be the school bookworm, only to be hexed by her best friend and whisked away by yet _another_ unidentifiable teen. Only, this one was a guy, and his name was never revealed.

Which was the biggest relief in the world to the mystery man. Draco didn't know what he'd do if anyone ever figured out that it was him.

Sitting in Potions class, quite alone without his partner there, he found himself growing increasingly anxious about this whole predicament. He was convinced he'd somehow been found out and someone out there was just waiting for the perfect moment to drop the gossip bomb on the school. It'd wipe him out.

But he felt that worrying would essentially get him nowhere. He had to get his mind off of it.

And so, instead, though he was supposed to be brainstorming for an essay about any potion he pleased, he sat in his seat, writing to Granger. The parchment grew hot under his fingertips as she responded to him and he looked over his shoulder before reading her reply.

 _D—_

 _I completely disagree. I think one should read for more than just the pursuit of knowledge, but also to lose him or herself in a story and to…I don't know,_ feel _the way the characters feel. How could you ever call it useless outside of school?!_

 _~H_

They had acquired the habit of signing their notes this way, with an H and a D, even though there was no one else that it could be.

Draco let out a small "hmm," thinking over what she'd said. He'd decided to bring up a discussion (he refused to call it an argument) so that he could forget about the hustle and bustle of the drama that hung over his head, though no one but he and Granger knew it even concerned him.

As it was, it was easy to lose himself in a conversation with the bushy-haired girl.

 _H—_

 _I suppose that makes sense. Maybe I've just never read a book before that I enjoyed._

 _~D_

Her reply came twenty seconds later.

 _D—_

 _Why do I feel like you restrained yourself from saying "Maybe I've never read a book that was good enough for such a sophisticated and empowered wizard like myself"? Oh, Malfoy, always with the superiority complex._

 _~H_

He smirked in the murky light of the dungeon among the distant sniffs of students whose heads were bent over textbooks. Typical Granger.

 _H—_

 _You know, it did occur to me to say such a thing. But I wouldn't_ dare _say anything of the sort and be ensued by the wrath of Granger._

 _~D_

As he waited for her response, he rested his head on his hand, silver eyes gazing around the room. It was eerily quiet, aside from the constant shuffling of feet and parchment, and he couldn't help but wish for some sort of noise to fill up the emptiness.

He didn't have to wait long for his wish to be granted. To his left, a sudden hurried whispering captured his attention. Draco wasn't surprised to see that it was Brown and Parvati Patil, heads close together.

A simple charm was all he needed to be able to easily hear their conversation while still keeping the words inaudible for the rest of the room.

"I still can't believe it," Patil whispered.

"Neither can I," Brown agreed. "Damn Granger."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed minutely. Of course that would be what they were talking about.

"But you have to admit," Patil continued, "she looked magnificent."

Brown shrugged. "Yeah, that's true. I was insanely jealous."

"And she _totally_ nailed the masquerade aspect, too. I had no idea it was her until Ron hit her with that hex and said her name. I was floored by it."

"Honestly," Brown breathed. "I still can't wrap my mind around it. Not that she isn't pretty or anything, but..." She trailed off.

"No, I know what you mean," Patil agreed. "She's…she's no showstopper."

Draco stifled a scoff at that. Granger definitely had seemed like one on Saturday, despite what they were saying.

"What _I_ can't figure out," Brown said, "is who she was with."

"Right?!" Patil whispered excitedly. "I mean, I thought she was still all caught up on Ron, but I guess she's over him."

"Thankfully," Brown commented smugly, tossing a lock of hair behind her shoulder. "I thought she'd _never_ leave my boyfriend alone. Nice to know she's finally moved on."

Draco sneered, face tilted towards the desk so they wouldn't see him. She made it sound as if Granger had been pursuing Weasley endlessly like a starved dog after a man with food. That wasn't what had happened at all.

But anyways, Patil carried on. "And _wow,_ has she moved on." She fanned her face with her hand exaggeratedly, giggling under her breath.

Brown bit her lip. "Ugh, I _know!"_

Draco frowned in confusion.

"You got a good look at him, right?" Parvati asked.

"Oh yeah," the blonde answered. "I mean, not well enough to figure out who he was, obviously, because that disguise was foolproof." She growled lowly under her breath. "It made me suddenly despise the theme of a masquerade."

"Me too." The two laughed quietly and looked around them, as if afraid but also hopeful that they'd be overheard.

Lavender sighed. "I'd give almost _anything_ to find out who he was."

Draco nearly threw up in his mouth. For one, the thought of him with _Brown_ was repulsive. Secondly, the girl had a boyfriend, the boy who had torn Granger apart. And here, the soul person who had caused his friend's sadness was saying she'd rather have someone other than Weasley. Her words made him see red, especially since Brown was unknowingly talking about Draco.

"Same, honestly," Patil whispered. "I couldn't see his face because of that red mask, but…everything else…." She giggled loudly again. "I can't believe I've never noticed that _anyone_ at this school looks so good."

Draco could feel his face grow uncomfortably hot. It was true that after he and Granger had become friends, he'd started eating normally again and even resumed his mercilessly exhausting Quidditch workout, but he supposed he hadn't noticed he'd become… _attractive_ again. He felt sick that the Gryffindor girls had thought so.

He couldn't help but wonder if Granger thought the same, but he shoved the thought away quickly.

"Personally,"—Brown's words woke Draco from his stupor— "I'd love to have a go at him myself, whoever he is."

Patil sighed, a longing one that soon turned melancholy. "I agree with you, but I've no chance at that."

"What do you mean? Because he could virtually be _anyone_ at this school, I'm sure you could have a shot if you figured out who he was."

"Well, maybe," Patil said, "but even if I _did_ know who he was, it's clear that he's too far gone."

Draco almost sat up in confusion.

Brown blinked in surprise, caught off guard as well. "I…don't follow."

Patil shot her a look. "Oh, come on, you saw how he acted on Saturday night."

"…When?"

"You know, when Hermione got hexed!"

Brown's face slowly turned from confused to understanding. "Ohhhh…yeah, I see what you're saying."

"Yeah."

Draco felt like the conversation was going too fast for him to understand any of what they were talking about.

"Still, though," Brown said. "Maybe they're just friends. Maybe you'd have a chance—"

"No way." Patil was shaking her head. "No way that anyone could be 'just friends' with someone who looked like that. And also…he freaked over Hermione. Anyone with eyes could tell he cared for her in more than just a friendly way. He panicked like hell when he saw she'd been hurt. He picked her up and was out of the Great Hall in about twenty seconds."

Brown stayed silent for a long moment before replying. "That's…that's true. I see what you mean."

Patil sighed. "I just hope that Hermione at least appreciates what she's got. Clearly, she has a hold on him. Like I said, he's much too far gone to go back now. The whole thing is kind of romantic, actually, how protective he seems."

Brown smiled slightly. "They must really fancy each other."

Draco almost fell out of his seat at that. No. Absolutely not. Everything else that had been said scared him, but the last part was insanity. Absolutely preposterous. He actually _literally_ almost retched at Lavender's words.

He had heard enough.

He was disgusted. It was a vile thought, and a scowl of revulsion crossed his face. _Fancy_ Granger? No. No. No. They'd hardly started being friends! There was no way that he fancied her.

He looked away, shifting his hands on his desk and finally realizing that the parchment in front of him had grown hot. In his interest of Brown and Patil's conversation, he'd forgotten about his discussion with Granger.

 _D—_

 _Don't worry, I won't let my "wrath" smite you. At least, not badly._

 _~H_

Oh right. Their conversation about books.

Below her latest statement, another word was scrawled.

 _Hello?_

It had been a while since he'd responded, he'd been so engrossed in the gossip. She had clearly been expecting a fast reply and was confused when she didn't get one. Draco hurried to fix it, suddenly too in denial to want to talk much.

 _H—_

 _Sorry, Potions stuff. I gotta go right now, but I'll visit you soon, if that's alright...?_

 _~D_

He couldn't help but ask to see her. What? It wasn't bad. They were friends. They were _friends._ It was fine, it was fine.

Her response was fast.

 _D—_

 _Yeah, sounds great. I haven't seen you since Valentine's, but Ronald's been visiting so much that I wouldn't risk stopping by until I tell you. I'll write to you, but I think tonight should be okay._

 _~H_

Draco scrawled a quick "alright", scowling at the thought of the Weasel seeing her so often. He deserved no forgiveness for what he'd done.

The bell rang, and the class packed their things away, many hurrying out the door into the crowded hallway. Draco was a bit slower in his movements, carefully stowing his parchment in his pocket, taking care not to tear it. The rest of his things, however, were thrown unceremoniously into his bookbag.

As he looked up from doing so, he was met with the face of his redheaded rival, suspicion written all over his ugly features. Behind his shoulder stood Scarhead, looking out of place and averse to his friend's confrontational predisposition.

"Malfoy," Weasley growled. "Where were you Saturday night?"

"Nice to see you too, Weaselby," Draco greeted with a smirk.

"Answer the question, ferret."

Draco stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I was at the dance, like everyone else in this bloody school."

The Gryffindor narrowed his eyes. "I didn't _see_ you there."

"Aw, you were looking for me?" Draco's eyes widened condescendingly. "That's real nice, Weasel, but I'm not much into ignorant blood traitors."

The boy's fists clenched. "What I meant was that—"

"I knew what you meant, you thick headed idiot." Draco loved playing with the imbecile. "But what _I'm_ trying to say is that you don't need to worry; I'm on your side."

The two Gryffindors looked at each other in confusion. "What do you mean by that?" Potter asked.

"You hexed Granger," Malfoy stated, one hand twirling his wand between his thin white fingers. "And I support that wholeheartedly. I saw the whole thing, and I must say I'm impressed, though I was sorry that I couldn't get in on the action myself."

The words hurt him to say, but they had the intended effect.

Weasley's face screwed up in anger. "That was an accident, Malfoy!"

"A great one, then."

"Screw you!" Weasley nearly shouted. "I'd never intentionally hurt Hermione!"

"But it seems you have. Repeatedly, according to Hermione's _date."_

It brought Draco immense pleasure that the word made Weasley even more infuriated.

Before he could yell something else, however, Potter stepped in. "Ron, it's clearly not him. I don't know why you even considered it."

"It could be _anyone,_ Harry."

Draco smirked. "I agree with Pothead."

Potter glared at him, green eyes connecting with silver. Draco thought that maybe there was something resembling recognition in them for a split second, as if the oh-so-famed chosen one had seen those silver depths before, but not on his face. Draco willed him to not think it over, remembering their eye contact from the night of the dance and the boy's obvious confusion that they were silver.

But the Slytherin must have imagined it, because Scarhead just glowered at him before turning and exiting the classroom. Draco felt relief followed by foolishness that he'd thought his enemy could ever be smart enough to make that sort of connection in his head.

"You stay away from us, Malfoy," Weasley shot at him before following his best friend.

"Gladly," Draco muttered under his breath. He'd never been happier to oblige.

Exiting the room, he sighed and ran a hand through his platinum hair. One class of the week over, and the drama was already getting to him. He could only hope that the gossip derived from the events of the dance would blow over quickly; this stress and anxiety couldn't be good for anyone.

. . . ….. . . .

It was 11:04 that night when she wrote to him.

He was in the hospital wing by 11:09.

Granger smiled warmly at Draco when he sat down on the bed next to hers. Her now brown eyes were tired, bags beneath them voicing her exhaustion. Her hair, which had reverted back to its curly brown state, was ratty and worn around her face, physical evidence of the torture she'd been through recently.

Still, Draco couldn't help but think she looked good. He chastised himself for entertaining such ideas and immediately banished them.

"Granger," he greeted stiffly. If he was too relaxed around her, maybe she'd begin to think he liked her like _that._ He couldn't let that happen.

Then again, he knew he couldn't stay so unfeeling and cold for long.

The girl picked up on Draco's discomfort immediately. "Are you alright?"

He nodded once. "Yes."

She pursed her lips. "Hmph, well, it definitely doesn't seem like it and I don't believe you." Her eyes shone in the black of the room.

"I promise you, I'm fine."

 _Oh yeah, I'm doing right dandy. Just trying to keep myself from being too nice to you. Why? Oh, I don't know, maybe because if I am, you'll be in grave danger and face imminent death. Try that on for size._

No, it wasn't her. He wouldn't even consider it. Considering it would make things too real, and he refused to even acknowledge that such a possibility could exist.

Granger gave him a look. "That's a lie. You're not fine. Tell me what's up."

He could never do that. He almost laughed at the prospect.

Thankfully, she offered him a scapegoat of an excuse. "Is it about the dance?"

"Yeah." He desperately grabbed at the idea. "Just…lots of talking about it and all."

It was in no way a lie. In fact, it was _because_ of the dance and its events that he was so uneasy about everything. It had made him think more about several different things, and that was never good.

"I'm sorry," Granger consoled. "Have they been talking about me?"

"Nonstop." Draco offered a small chuckle. "I can't imagine why, though. It's not like you were cursed or something. Oh wait…never mind."

Granger laughed, a small noise that brought a smile to Draco's face in the dark. He realized this and swallowed, wiping it from his mouth.

"And what of you? Have people been talking about the 'dashing' guy I went with?" She overexaggerated the adjective and snorted in laughter at his rolled eyes.

"Well, yes, actually."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah," Draco breathed, smothering a laugh in his chest. "Just this morning in Potions, if I remember correctly, I overheard a conversation between one Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil."

Granger groaned. "Oh, God. Do I even want to know?"

"Whether or not you want to, I'm telling you." She let out a small _pff._ "They were going on and on about some mystery man and how incredibly attractive he was." He couldn't help it; he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Granger let out a sharp bark of a laugh. "Tell me you're joking."

"Sadly," Draco sighed, "I am not at all."

"Really?!"

"Yeah. I think the exact words were 'I can't believe I've never noticed that _anyone_ at this school looks so good' and 'I'd love to have a go at him myself'. Those are direct quotes, I swear by it."

Granger laughed under her breath, shaking her head. "Merlin, they're such girls."

Draco couldn't resist. He cockily stretched out on the bed beside her, facing her with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. "What, so you don't agree with them?"

Granger faced him so that their bodies were parallel. "What do you mean?"

"You don't agree that I'm attractive enough to drop jaws and break hearts at the mere sight of me?" He added a dramatic sigh for effect.

Granger almost choked on her exhale of disbelief and exasperation. "Please, Malfoy. I once said that you're as charming as a mandrake and I stand by those words."

"Mm, that's a real shame, it is."

"And why is that?" Draco could see her grinning through the darkness of the night.

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "Brown and Patil seem to think you have me wrapped around your pretty little finger. Maybe you could have gotten away with it, too." The mocking and sarcastic tone of his voice was so obvious that it was almost painful.

Granger pouted. "Aw, now I _really_ regret calling you a mandrake."

Draco smirked. "As you should."

Their conversation was a long one, and despite his conscious telling him that what he was doing was wrong, the Slytherin couldn't help but continue to talk to his friend. In the moment, he could never tear himself away from a conversation with her; it was as impossible a feat as any.

He chose to ignore what Brown and Patil had said, everything about how he clearly fancied her quite a lot. About how he _cared_ for her.

Draco Malfoy was an incredibly stubborn person. If he set his mind to something, it would be seen through. In this case, his mind was set on believing what it wanted to believe, and that was that he did not care for Granger. Not enough, at least, and _definitely_ not like that.

Recently, he'd been doubting this. Maybe things were different now, maybe something had changed. But the stubbornness in his head won out and he banished these thoughts. It was insanity. Just preposterous.

He refused to believe it. He couldn't believe it and he wouldn't believe it. _It_ was crazy and there was no way in all of hell that he'd ever fall for it.

For some reason, after he left the hospital wing that night at 12:47, he repeated these thoughts in his mind. The repetition of a belief appropriately influences decision, after all, deriving inflexibility on a certain topic or viewpoint. In Draco's case, his viewpoint was this: he did _not_ care for her in a way that would ever put her in harm's path.

Oddly enough, on the night of Monday, February 16th, 1997, this thought eased his mind. He started to believe himself.

Repetition creates belief creates ignorance creates bliss.

For Draco, such words had never rang truer. And for the first time in his life, Draco was okay with such bliss.

* * *

 **3333 words. So satisfying.**

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	34. Repetition, Belief, Ignorance, Bliss

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 _"'_ _Everything is confusing.' The words were soon lost on the morning air. Draco didn't want to know what she was referring to, but he agreed nonetheless. Everything_ was _."_

* * *

She wasn't in the hospital wing for much longer, thankfully. Out and about several days later, as healthy as one could be, Granger was back to chatting, laughing, and studying as usual.

Of course, this meant she was immediately barraged with a plethora of questions about who her "date" had been on the fourteenth. For such an intelligent witch, she was quite good at playing dumb.

The first Monday of March arrived along with the eventual subsiding of the gossip and drama that revolved around Draco and Granger. Slughorn's sixth year Potions class was scattered throughout the library, students sporadically placed like birdfeed on the ground. Draco sat in the far corner of the maze of shelves, back pressed against one with his head bent over a textbook. They were meant to be studying up for the essay that was to be written on any potion they chose, and because Draco had been shirking the work, he supposed now was as good a time as any to actually get things done.

This was true especially because he knew Granger wouldn't be there to distract him for once. Whenever she was around, he seemed to get nothing done in the class. But because she wasn't forced to sit next to him now, she wouldn't risk being seen with him in the library of her own accord.

Draco understood this completely and paid no mind to the part of him that was slightly offended and hurt by it. He didn't care. In fact, he was _glad_ that she'd be leaving him alone for once because it meant he wouldn't have to worry about being caught with her.

Admittedly, it had crossed his mind that if anyone noticed how they acted around each other in Potions, people would be suspicious. They didn't exactly act harshly, as was customary Draco/Granger expectation. If even one student looked over their shoulder and saw them laughing and talking like old friends, things could take a turn for the worse.

Draco had to remind himself this every day and even had to remind the girl the same thing. They were smart students and wouldn't allow anyone to best them, so the two were sure to keep their gimmicks to a minimum.

On a couple occasions, Potter had walked over to their table and started talking to his friend, at which Draco would drop his head and shoot him several glares of hatred. Scarhead never became suspicious at this, and definitely not when the Slytherin would throw out a scathing remark. The black-haired boy would eventually stalk off, fury emanating from his being while Granger would roll her eyes at Draco.

As long as they could continue to be friends without anyone noticing, Draco didn't care what he had to do. Frankly, much worse things could be done to ensure this.

He sighed as he sat in the library, flipping a page in his textbook and wincing slightly as the shelf he leaned against dug into his spine. Though he cringed, he still welcomed it; it was a sort of uncomfortable presence that he didn't mind at all.

A hurried medley of footsteps caught his attention and he looked up, platinum hair falling across his forehead as his eyes widened minutely in surprise. Granger sped towards him, bookbag in tow, risking a glance over her shoulder to confirm that they were alone. She looked at him, pink cheeks stretching upwards in a smile as she plopped herself down across from where he sat.

"Hey," she greeted quietly. "Figured you might be here."

Draco's finger lay dormant on his textbook as one of his eyebrows rose. "Why?"

"Because I know you," she whispered as she unpacked her things. "And I know you'd prefer to be as far away from the 'idiots' in our class as possible."

He let out a small _hmff._ "That's true." He cleared his throat slightly. _Repetition creates belief creates ignorance creates bliss._ "Not to sound rude, but…why are _you_ here?"

Granger's movements ceased in surprise. "Is…there a problem with that?"

"No, not at all," Draco hurried to explain. "Just, I don't know, I figured you'd rather want to hang out with Potter and Weasley or something. You're not obligated to sit with me when we're in the library, after all." He sneered at the last part, eyes glaring down at his book. Screw everything.

"I'd prefer to be here, actually." Draco couldn't keep the shock from registering on his face, though he kept it pointed at his hands.

"You don't say?"

"To be honest," Granger laughed quietly, "they were getting a bit annoying, actually. They've never been very good in libraries."

"Ahh, I see," Draco drawled, smirking up at her. "So it's because I'm so quiet, then?"

She shrugged, smiling. "Among many reasons, yes, I suppose so."

He shook his head, going back to his studying as she finished unpacking her things and resumed her own perusing through subjects and potions. Draco's eyes looked up at her on a few occasions, taking in her frizzy hair and narrowed eyes. She was biting her lip. She seemed to do that a lot when she was concentrating.

He looked down at his own Potions book, sighing and rubbing his forehead. He had to stop noticing small things about her, had to stop _caring._ That could lead nowhere good.

 _Stop._ Not that it mattered, because it wasn't her. It could never be her because he could never _actually_ care for her. He was a Malfoy and that meant that he was above caring for anyone or anything that wasn't as good as him.

He flinched at the thought. He hated it, but maybe repeating it enough would make his heart believe it.

Repetition creates belief creates ignorance creates bliss.

That was a saying he had to live by.

A clock somewhere in the library clicked on as the dull sun shone through the windows along the wall, none of which could be seen by Draco or Granger from where they sat in their secluded crook. Shadows fell around them and dust particles were suspended in the air, lazily drifting along in the stillness of the environment. There wasn't much for them to do among the worn leather-bound books and still students. Time was hardly moving.

Until Granger looked up and slammed her textbook shut.

Draco startled slightly, looking up at her with irritation in his eyes. "What was that about?"

"It's shocking, I know," she sighed, starting to stand. "And you're going to be astounded. But for once in my life, it seems I don't want to be here, in the library. I'm—dare I say it?—uninterested."

Draco's jaw dropped. "You're joking."

She shook her head. "I'm not." Granger hoisted her bag over her shoulder. "Now are you coming or not?"

What the hell, his studying could be postponed _one_ more day.

After packing his things away, Draco followed the girl out of the library, taking care that no one saw them. He followed her at a good distance, so that they could be mistaken as not together. She twisted along corridors, ran up flights of stairs, checked to see that he was following. And every time that they made eye contact, she smiled.

He could see out of a passing window as they walked down yet another hallway that they were far away from the ground, climbing higher and higher towards the sky. He had an inkling of where she was headed but didn't really care so long as they weren't in the library anymore.

He ended up being correct. After ascending one last flight of stairs, Granger opened the door that led to the astronomy tower. Since it was in the middle of the day, the area was deserted because no class needed it to study the stars. A small breeze floated by, stirring Grangers hair around her content expression.

Draco distinctly remembered New Year's Eve, flying Granger up here on his new broomstick and laughing at her white knuckles and clenched jaw. The girl who was too proud and fearless to reject a challenge. Funny, really, that she'd been frightened by _flying,_ of all things.

"I don't think Slughorn will catch us here." She sniffed and sat on the edge of the tower, dangling her legs over the side and clutching at the vertical bars of the railing on either side of her thighs, leaning her forehead on a horizontal one at her eye level. Draco sat to her left, mimicking her posture.

They stared out over the forest and lake beneath them, simply satisfied with sitting and watching. The wind ruffled their cloaks, mixing the black material together so that it was hard to discern which belonged to whom. The bright sun overhead was shrouded slightly by a smattering of clouds, which protected Draco's eyes so that he could survey the world around him without having to squint much. Trees rustled softly below, creating a melodious song of branches and leaves that greeted the boy's ears as he tasted the scent of pine on his tongue.

He let out a breath slowly, sinking into himself. What had happened to him? What had he become? His life….

Granger shifted slightly to his right. "I've always loved this view."

Draco said nothing, didn't even nod. He just continued to be, listening if she was willing to speak.

She was. "It seems like everyone in the school loves it, too. I'd love to come up here alone, occasionally, but there's usually other people. Sometimes only one. Sometimes a group. Sometimes a couple who deem it their own special place to make out. I think it's a trashy thing to do.

"But then sometimes I _do_ get lucky. Only a few times, really, because it seems that no matter how often I come up here, someone beats me to it. But I've been lucky before." She looked down. "I try to hold onto those moments. Seems like they go by far too quickly."

He knew what she meant. There were days where time moved so slowly that it seemed like it'd stopped, and days where it seemed to go by so fast that it wasn't even real. The fact that it was already March was evidence enough of this; it was March and he was no closer to knowing what he was supposed to do.

Instead, he was procrastinating on thinking it over. He was too afraid to do anything but that.

He just said "yeah," and that was it.

Granger looked over at him, an odd sort of expression on her face, almost cheerless but concerned but content but confused all at the same time. Draco looked up, sudden sadness filling his own gaze, though he fought it valiantly.

Her brown eyes scanned his face, slowly it seemed, taking in everything from his silver eyes to his pale lips to his too-pointy nose. Then Granger sighed and went back to looking over the grounds, sunshine glinting off of her dark irises.

"Everything is confusing." The words were soon lost on the morning air.

Draco didn't want to know what she was referring to, but he agreed nonetheless. Everything _was_.

She chewed on her lip, swallowing. "Won't you say something?" The words were a quiet plea.

It was silent on the astronomy tower, much too silent and it pressed in on Draco. He shrugged. "I don't know what to say."

"I worry about you," Granger admitted lowly. "I'm not sure why, and I don't know why I should, but I have a gut feeling that there's sense to it. There are things you aren't telling me; I can feel it."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't _have_ to tell you anything."

"I know," Granger said. "And I'm not mad. Not anymore, at least. I'm just worried." She looked over at him quickly before gazing back out at the sky. "Can…can you tell me that I'm being crazy? So that I can stop worrying and get on with life knowing that I don't need to be anxious for you?"

The silver on his face was lifeless. The moment of silence lasted too long, and the breeze filled it with sound.

"You're being crazy."

"I'm not, am I." It sounded like a statement.

Draco didn't need to respond to that.

Granger sighed. "Malfoy, if you only told me about the Room of Requirement—"

"I can't."

"Apparently." There was no anger, just sadness. "But I don't want you getting hurt. Not if I can do something about it."

He nearly flinched at the response. If she _did_ do something about it, it was true that he wouldn't get hurt. But if she was involved with any of this, that meant….

 _She's not._

 _Does it really matter, as long as_ I _live?_

 _Well, not really, but I'd prefer it if_ she _had nothing to do with any of this…._

Draco sighed. "You can't do anything. You won't. You'd better not, at least."

Granger made a sound at the back of her throat. "Malfoy, you don't have to threaten me. I'm not trying to—"

"I'm not threatening you," he interrupted. "I'm just—it doesn't matter. I can't explain it and I won't let myself drag you into it."

She didn't say anything and neither did he. He was beginning to regret coming up here with her; he never meant to hurt Granger, especially if her hearing the truth was what wounded her the most.

Their breathing filled up the emptiness for at least ten minutes while the trees swayed, and the sky filled up with grey. Even the sun seemed to be a dull white as it shone, fitting nicely into the desolate and hopeless mood.

"I just don't want you getting hurt, Malfoy." Her eyes were staring at her hands beneath half closed lids as the whispered words met with the air. "I'd do almost anything to help you."

The bell rang distantly in the background, signaling the end of the first class of the week. Draco's brain hardly processed it over the realization that what the girl had just said was his biggest fear. That she'd do almost anything for him, for the friend she cared for.

No. He wouldn't allow it.

Repetition creates belief creates ignorance creates bliss.

Bliss. That sounded good right about now.

 _"I'd do almost anything to help you."_ Her words rang in his ears even after the bell had long been silenced.

Draco swallowed heavily. "Please don't."

There was nothing left to say.

The Slytherin dragged himself to his feet, offering the girl below him his hand. She shook her head without a word.

Looking back at Granger, Draco slid out the door and slumped down the stairs, the picture of her hopeless form staring out at the wilderness below her powerlessly engraved into the forefront of his brain. The heels of his hands pressed into his eyes as he let out a long breath, shaking his head. He hated himself, hated himself so much for causing her such obvious pain.

But he couldn't do this, couldn't do such a thing to her. He wouldn't be the cause of a different sort of agony. He'd never forgive himself if he was, so he'd sit idly by and endure hurting her if it meant she was safe.

No. No. _No._ He had to stop, had to stop this insanity. It wasn't her, wasn't her, _wasn't her._

He'd stop entertaining such ideas and actually start enjoying life again. This was insanity. Preposterous.

Repetition creates belief creates ignorance creates bliss.

Repetition creates belief creates ignorance creates bliss.

Repetition creates belief creates ignorance creates bliss.

Repetition creates belief creates ignorance creates bliss.

Repetition creates belief creates ignorance creates bliss.

He kept repeating it to himself.

Repetition creates belief creates ignorance creates bliss.

But for some reason, it seemed to be losing its effect on him. Still, it wasn't completely powerless. Not quite yet. So he kept repeating it, kept believing, kept breathing.

Preposterous.

* * *

 **2664 words. Very fitting.**

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	35. When Nightmares and Reality Mix

**Couple things to address, so please pay attention!**

 **1) HUGE shout out to Ditte3 for reviewing like 20+ times! You rock!**

 **2) _ IMPORTANT: _****this chapter starts off very very dark. Like it's pretty descriptive and gross. Not horribly so, but it's definitely the goriest of any chapter I've written so far, so I'm just warning you.**

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* * *

 _"'…_ _it's almost as if….' 'As if nothing makes sense. As if the only sensible conclusion you can make is the one that makes less sense than any other.'"_

 _~Hermione, Draco_

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The air was uneasily still. It didn't move, as if any sort of motion would unleash a beast of unimaginable terror on it. So it stood, suspended in the room, not daring to breathe or feel or live.

Draco's face registered nothing but detached indifference. His hands, clasped in front of him, were clammy and pale, gripping equally white knuckles as his heart beat slightly faster than was normal. A bead of sweat drudged past his brow above steel eyes, eyes that were either unfeeling, uncaring, or unwilling to illustrate their true emotions.

It was cold. Too cold. Draco would've shivered if he could've felt anything at all.

Beside him, his parents stood stonily, bedraggled and small. They said nothing. They did nothing. No one felt permitted to interrupt the commanding silence that pressed in on them and stifled the air from their lungs. It was growing in desperation.

But suddenly the quiet _was_ ended, killed swiftly and mercilessly as an agonized screech ripped through the air. It pierced, as effective and shocking as a crimson arrow launched into a peaceful wood. The sound went straight through Draco, cutting him down to the smallest size he could be.

The boy looked down, away from the scene in front of him. He couldn't stand to watch Bellatrix torture anyone, not now, not ever.

Maybe it was better this way, because he couldn't see the victim's face. At least he wouldn't have to face them, have to look into their eyes as they pleaded for safety, for sympathy, for release and the cruelty of death on the hard floors of Malfoy Manor. Even in front of such an audience as his parents and aunt, he wasn't sure how he'd hold up if anyone _were_ to ever look to him in such a situation.

But as it was, he _couldn't_ see their face. Or at least, he couldn't recognize them, because the truth was that he _was_ able to gaze upon their face. Yet that did nothing.

For nothing was left expect bone and muscle, throbbing and spewing red uncontrollably beneath a jagged, gore streaked dagger that was clasped between Bellatrix's blood-soaked hands, black in the dim light of the drawing room. Flesh clung vainly to the edges of cheekbones, flesh that was previously cheek fat, but became nothing more but disposable lumps of skin and red as the knife was scraped across the surface yet again. The jaw—or what was left of it—was forced open as an animalistic shriek ripped from the throat, gripping the entire body as it shook violently on the floor, thrashing apart as blood-laced screams of agony slashed it to pieces. Dark scarlet seeped from the hair line, crawling across the marble beneath the body as Bellatrix shouted obscenities at the person before growling to herself and—

Draco fought vainly to keep an expression of horror and revulsion from his face as he closed his eyes to the sight of his aunt grinding her thumbs into the eye sockets of her victim. The sound that followed was so loud, so ear-splitting, so excruciatingly wrenching that it couldn't possibly have been from such a mangled person who had essentially become a distorted hunk of meat.

The boy clenched his jaw tightly, so tightly that he was sure he'd cracked several teeth. He fought valiantly to repress the fear and bile rising in his throat, but they rose and suffocated his senses as Bellatrix caused another screech to tear through the room.

His stomach churned. He hated this. He hated this. What was this? Why. Why?

His parents stood by, eyes averted. Their soulless depths gazed, blank yet distantly sad, at their feet. There was nothing they could do and there was nothing they _would_ do. But wait. They just had to wait.

Draco's head turned to the floor, eyes still closed, but his ears seemed to be seeing something nothing else could. It grew, subtly at first, like an afterthought not noted upon. Like static. Like a harsh wind. But it became overpowering, too overpowering, and Draco had to force his heart and mind into indifference to combat its pure force.

True repulsion. But an underlying thankfulness, coupled with fear, that the person on the floor—whoever they were—was not him. And it choked him so badly that he could no longer breathe.

However, he could still hear.

A tearing sound filled the room for a split second, mingling with a blood-curling shriek that didn't sound quite right. Draco wished he hadn't turned to see; he'd prefer the comfort of blindness to the sight of Bellatrix holding a bloodied and mangled jaw proudly above her, strings of muscles still reaching pitiably towards the still head on the ground as if trying to reattach themselves.

He didn't even want to see what the rest of the face looked like.

Standing in the Malfoy Manor, feeling disgusted and thankful and scared, Draco was admittedly quite averse to being there.

Waking in his dorm room, though, Draco felt not subtle discomfort and distress like he had in his dream, but a mind-numbing terror that ripped through his entire being in one swift movement. He shot up, sobs and gasps wracking his body as his fingernails tore at the roots of his hair. He clawed at his chest, hysteria driving him to the brink of insanity as his heart beat faster and faster and—

He could see nothing else. Just the blood, the body, the screams—yes, he could _see_ the screams, pained and huge and excruciatingly grotesque. The body. The blood. Bellatrix. The bones. The blood. The floor, the dagger, the blood, the fear, the red, the blood, the crimson, the blood the blood the blood blood blood blood blood—

It repeated itself in his head, over and over and over and over and over and over and over and—He couldn't think, he couldn't think, couldn't think of anything. Not a single co-co-co-coherent th-thought—

 _No no no nonononononononononononooo—_

 _NOOOOOO—_

Breaths rrrrrripped from his tired lungs. A-a-a-a-a hand shakily scratched lines down his face, b-but he…he…he-Draco couldn't th-th-think—

 _I can't. I can't. I can't._

This (the four lettered word r-r-repeated in his mind eighteen thousand t-times) was in….was insanity. He had to think, to stop, to be quiet, to breathe, to—

To check. He had to check.

Pure fear and overwhelming madness caused Draco to move so rapidly, it couldn't have been possible. Tears of panic blurred his vision, and faintly he realized he needed to calm down, but n-now was not the time—

 _I-I-I-I-I…I n-need to know—_

 _God, I can't-I can't th-think—_

 _What's wrong with me?! Why am I-I being like th-th-ththththththis?!_

Like his very life was glitching out. Like he himself had been ripped to shreds. Like his ability to think and reason and breathe and simply _be_ had been annihilated.

 _H—_

 _R U OK?_

 _~D_

Messy handwriting and fear.

Draco's eyes were wild. This was insanity. He was insanity. He needed to calm d-down—but he couldn't. N-n-n-not until—

She responded.

 _D—_

 _Yes, I'm perfectly fine. Night patrols as usual, though they can be a bore sometimes to be honest! What's wrong, why so urgent? Are you okay?_

 _~H_

There was such an easygoing and commonplace attitude to her response, her familiar h-handwriting, that Draco felt himself relax. Sl-slightly.

A shaky breath left him, visible on the warm March air, and he felt his chest heave. He was still sh-shaking, like a leaf on the breeze. His eyes searched the room warily as a single tear streaked down his face. It was white on his whiter skin.

 _It-it was s-so real—_

 _So vivid—_

Draco let out another raspy breath, one that tore from him painfully. He squeezed his eyes closed, hands flying up to cover his face as he fought back sobs of fear. No, no, no, no. No, he couldn't. He couldn't.

This was real. This was too real. Was too real. Too real. Real.

The word sounded so exhausted after reverberating around inside his skull for so long.

Finally, he found the strength to write again.

 _H—_

 _We need to meet. Now. By the Great Hall._

 _~D_

He didn't wait for a response to get out of his dorm. Within ten seconds, his comfortable bed with its emerald sheets and soft memories was empty.

He walked with a sort of purpose, as always, though for once it was evident that he was in a hurry. Draco Malfoy was never in a hurry, but now he was.

 _It's fine. I'm fine. She's fine._ He kept repeating the words.

Repetition creates belief creates ignorance creates bliss.

He didn't care that it was far past curfew. 12:54, to be exact. He just kept walking, kept breathing, kept counting to ten and f-feeling his heartbeat as it slowly—slowly—got steadier.

And by the time he reached the Great Hall, he was almost fine. It had been a dream. It had been a dream. A bad one, yes, but a dream nonetheless. He was at Hogwarts, not the manor, and everything was fine, and every _one_ was fine. He was fine. It was fine. Fine. Fine. F-fine.

His breathing was normal once again. It took much longer than it should have, he realized, but that (also) was fine. He just needed to get out, needed to breathe and feel the air on his skin. The moving air, so unlike the air in his dream.

The dream that hadn't actually happened and wouldn't actually happen because it _couldn't_ actually happen. No. No. He had been freaking out. He didn't need to.

Everyone had bad dreams.

Draco sighed, pacing as he waited, hands covering his face as he felt the finger pads across his skin. He tried not to think about how it would feel for his face to be ripped from his body. Not thinking about such a thing was a harder task than one would imagine.

He hadn't had a dream like that in ages, not since the first semester of the school year. And those had mainly been of the cruciatus curse.

Draco halted his pacing. At that time in the year, he'd believed his dreams were predictions of how he would've died or of how the other person would die. If he'd been right, that would mean the person he cared for would die at Bellatrix's hand, just like in his dream—

 _No._

But that couldn't be right. If his dreams predicted the death, then it could _also_ be through the cruciatus and eventually the killing curse. He'd had dreams of both, after all.

Draco was visibly shaking still, but somehow his thought process managed to calm him down. His dream had been one of the most unpleasant things he'd ever experienced, but it _did_ confirm one thing. The death wasn't set in stone. Not _how_ someone died, at least.

"Malfoy?"

Granger's nervous voice ripped Draco from his thoughts, and he turned, relieved, to see the Gryffindor hurrying along the hall towards him. Her hair, frizzy as usual, floated along behind her as her black cloak billowed out. She looked tired but determined, always determined.

The sight of her made Draco sigh loudly in relief and he even slumped slightly where he stood, finally letting out the breath he'd been holding. Needless to say, this only worried the girl more as she came to a halt not three feet from him.

"Malfoy?" she started quietly, searching his gaze. "Malfoy, what is it?"

He couldn't hold her stare for more than about two seconds. His eyes dropped to the floor and he shook his head. There were no words.

It couldn't be her. There was no way. No one knew about them, after all, so she couldn't possibly get in harm's way. It would be someone else—this was a _fact_ —and Draco's life would go on. But one thing was certain: it was. Not. Her.

Granger bit her lip for a moment before she tentatively pulled at his sleeve to follow her. He did so without arguing.

Draco hardly noticed when they exited the castle, when they walked across the grass, sat by the lake and away from the school. His mind was racing too fast. He was thinking too much.

The wind rustled quietly, and the lake appeared black beneath the dark sky. The moon reflected against the miniscule ripples and waves, bouncing off of the water and onto Granger's face, illuminating it against the colorless air. Draco could finally look up at her again.

He hated the silence that stretched on. He'd had too much and too little of it already that night.

She always _could_ read him like one of her books. Her words were whispered yet shouted against the symphony of breezes and the smell of the lake. "Was it a dream?"

He stared across the water. Then: "Yes."

A hesitation. "A nightmare."

She didn't need an answer, but he gave her one anyways. "Yeah." The word sounded like a simple breath as Granger hugged her legs to her chest.

Her eyes captured his. "About whatever's in the Room of Requirement?"

He didn't look away as he nodded.

She frowned slightly, looking at her hands before sighing. "Malfoy, I—I know you won't tell me. There's not much I can do to change that, I know. But seeing you so beaten up…."

Maybe he shouldn't have met with her that night. Maybe it was a mistake, for it had worried her even more than before. Maybe, but Draco couldn't come to regret it. Even being with her for a moment was enough to calm his racing nerves. Imagine what sitting with her by the lake could do for him.

Draco could already feel his breathing returning to normal and his sweaty hands drying themselves in the grass. One last shaky breath left him, and he closed his eyes. Thank God for the miracle beside him.

Beaten up. She was too right all too often.

His breath of unease was not lost on her. "Malfoy…." Her eyes shut tightly as her arms hugged her legs tighter against her body. "I…I don't know what to do."

Draco was slightly shocked that she was suddenly distressed. "About what?"

"You," she answered, brown eyes flicking to his, a sort of desperation in their depths. "Isn't it obvious?" Granger let out a humorless laugh, a nervous one that made Draco swallow.

"I told you before," she continued, "that I was worried for you, but I think it's worse than that. I'm scared. For you. For whatever you've gotten yourself into, especially because I have _no_ idea what it is and because I am utterly and completely powerless."

He preferred it that way.

"And I…I just…." Her eyes closed and she let go of her legs, arms moving to prop herself up. "I don't know what to do and I don't know what to think and just…I…I don't know. You've been confusing me _so much,_ lately."

Draco blinked in surprise. She was confused by _him_? So…he wasn't just imagining things, when he'd thought things could be different.

But he couldn't assume what she meant. "I confuse you?"

She smiled slightly. "To no end."

He tilted his head in thought. "How so?"

She shrugged lazily. "I have no idea what to think anymore. Some days I feel like I know everything about you, the way you talk and what you mean and your habits and…hobbies and dislikes and, you know…everything. But then sometimes I have no idea where to even begin because it's like I've never known you at all. Like you're some foreign language that I cannot for the life of me understand. And no matter how much I think over and analyze the things you do and the words you say, it's almost as if…." She trailed off.

He understood exactly what she meant. "As if nothing makes sense," he finished, looking to her. "As if the only sensible conclusion you can make is the one that makes less sense than any other."

Her chocolate brown eyes met his, slowly. They reflected the moon as she looked into his soul, an odd sort of expression on her face. "Yeah. Exactly."

They sat like that for a moment before her eyes flicked to her hands. "It's confusing. It's like no matter what day it is or what time or how I feel or how _you_ feel, I can never ask the things I want to. It never makes sense to."

Draco frowned. "Granger, I've told you that I can't tell you anything about the Room of—"

"No, no—" She sighed. "Not about that. About something else. About everything else."

He felt a jolt in his stomach, one of nervousness and excitement and confusion. Her eyes held all of these too, with—what, curiosity? Anticipation? Embarrassment?

"Granger," Draco said softly. "You can ask me anything. Now, if you'd like. I promise you I'll give you a straight answer and I won't laugh or anything like that."

The girl seemed to be legitimately contemplating it. She bit her lip. Draco could only sit and wait and hope that she'd do what he couldn't.

And it seemed she was about to speak, to ask the question he'd been dreading but waiting for but hating all at the same time. Her mouth opened and she inhaled a breath of air and was about to speak—

But a shout at the castle grabbed her attention before she could even voice a single syllable. Filch had exited the school, making his way down towards the lake on the suspicion that there were "students out of bed". He was waving his lantern about drunkenly as Ms. Norris wound around his legs, shouting curses all the while about the things he'd do to such lousy, no good, rebellious children.

Draco helped Granger to her feet, swallowing his anger at Filch as they skirted around him, giving him a wide radius of space as they ran back up to the castle. Not being the brightest of squibs, he didn't even notice them.

Standing in the entrance of the school, Draco knew that their conversation had died as he took in Granger's panting form. No way would she want to speak anymore.

And frankly, neither did he. He'd been stupid. This whole night had been stupid.

"I'll see you around, Granger," he mumbled, turning his back on her before she could get a word in.

Instead, he sniffed and stalked away, readopting his usual swagger and confident persona. He wouldn't look back, not on her, not on this night. He couldn't, therefore he wouldn't.

Never mind that he wanted to.

In this life, in this twisted world that he called his reality, what he wanted didn't matter. There were more important things than that.

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 **3137\. lit**

 **Ok but WOW that dream was great. I thought I totally nailed it!**

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	36. Running and Admitting

**Guys. Last chapter was the best chapter I have EVER written. How the F-ing F did I only get TWO REVIEWS?! Like I'm lowkey actually confused/pissed/astonished. Like I thought it was AMAZING and then I got the least amount of reviews for any chapter I've ever written, ever. Seriously guys, come on, I know you're reading so PLEASE review.**

 **Also, completely off topic, but who else is OBSESSED with John Krasinski's "A Quiet Place"? I've literally seen it 4 times in the past two weeks and I CANNOT GET ENOUGH! It's amazing, 11/10 recommend it! You guys wouldn't know but I'm a complete wimp as far as horror movies go, too, so it's not that scary. But it's AMAZING OML GO SEE IT GO SEE IT NOW PLS IT'S THE BEST!**

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 _"_ _He was still running, always running. From the truth, from his common sense, from his heart. He ran. And ran. And ran still."_

 _~Draco, thinking_

* * *

It had been a while since Hermione had sat in the Great Hall. Alone. With nothing but her thoughts and a dry croissant to keep her company, and a steaming cup of coffee clasped between her hands. Black, bitter.

The combination of worry and fear that mixed within her stomach seemed to rise slowly throughout her body. There was dread deep inside her, distress in her chest. She had a feeling that something terrible, something awful, was about to happen. And there'd be nothing for her to do about it.

She sighed and little ripples moved across the top of her coffee. Hermione's hands were still cold despite the heat between them. It made no sense. Nothing made sense.

It had been a month since the conversation between Malfoy and her at the lake in the middle of the night. Ever since then, he'd been growing more distant. It wasn't noticeable at first, but now, weeks after the incident, it was evident that there was a change. Before the lake and the talk at the astronomy tower—basically before the dance—Malfoy had been palpably cheerier, more pleasant. He'd laughed, smiled, joked, teased, charmed. He'd had this irresistible (Hermione didn't give the word much thought) way about him, a sort of sparkle in his eyes that had been almost hypnotizing. Needless to say, it had puzzled Hermione more and more as the days went on.

But now, things were different. He never smiled. He never laughed. He hardly even smirked anymore. It had been a subtle change at first, one that she'd hardly picked up on, but now it was obvious to everyone. Even Harry had his suspicions about it.

Malfoy's eyes were dull. Pained. Averse to something, to several somethings. They rarely looked into Hermione's eyes and when they did, they looked on with fear, with sadness, with…Hermione was too smart to say "longing" but it was something that definitely looked like it.

She picked up her croissant and took a bite. No. Hermione Granger was much too smart to assume _that,_ though undoubtedly it hurt her to deny it. She didn't exactly know what she wanted.

The fact of the matter was that she was worried. _Scared._ She didn't know what to do, and though she kept reaching out to him, he kept pushing her away. It had gotten to the point where some days in Potions, he wouldn't say a word. Oh, she'd _try_ to get him to speak, but he never would. Not out of anger or shunning, but out of obvious fright and panicked thoughts.

Hermione had never wished more that she knew Legilimency.

He had grown paler, too. And he'd lost weight. Not a huge amount, but Hermione had noticed. His shirts were just a little looser on his form—a form that she remembered was quite nice—and he didn't even seem to care. His dead grey eyes showed nothing but his own confusion and distraught thoughts.

She needed Malfoy to tell her what was wrong. It was killing her not to know, and it looked to be killing him that he had no one to talk to about it.

And…there was no use denying it anymore. She was worried for him for more than one reason. Yes, they were friends and it hurt her to see him like this, but also….

It was crazy that _Hermione Granger_ of anyone could ever grow to actually like Draco Malfoy at all, the boy who had essentially been the leading cause of her pain for five years. It was crazier still to entertain the _idea_ that she fancied him.

It was craziest that she actually _did_ fancy him.

When she'd finally admitted it, it had been equally liberating and terrifying. Liberating because she'd finally addressed it with herself and maybe...well, maybe it wasn't so bad to think. But it was terrifying because if he ever found out, she'd be a laughing stock. Things would probably go back to how they were the year before and Hermione would be crushed. She didn't think she could face Ronald's rejection _and_ Malfoy's.

No, she wouldn't tell him. Crazy.

But she'd almost brought it up, that night at the lake. Filch had saved what would've been her incredibly sorry ass.

She'd forget everything she thought she felt. Crazy.

. . . ….. . . .

At the same time, Draco Malfoy sat in the Great Hall. His back was to the Gryffindor table. Hell, he didn't even know if Granger was there. He wouldn't check.

Every day that he worked to stay away from her, he felt himself slipping more and more. He forced himself to eat, but everything tasted bland and gray, like slop on his tongue.

His hands shook sometimes from fear. He was still running, always running. From the truth, from his common sense, from his heart. He ran. And ran. And ran still.

Draco had to stay away from her. He had to. There was no other choice.

The fact was that there was no one else. He cared for no one else. His mother, yes, but the chances of _her_ dying were nonexistent. The deal had been that someone he would _grow_ to care about would die, and he had always loved his mother.

Draco's eyes squeezed shut as a ragged breath ripped from his chest and he stood. He was done with the Great Hall.

Running still.

He exited the room, walking where his feet would take him. He didn't care. Nothing mattered.

Except her, at the moment. Ever since that night at the lake a month ago, he couldn't stop thinking about Granger. More than ever, she'd confused him. She'd wanted to ask him something but had been cut off. And it was _killing_ him to figure out what it had been, but he couldn't exactly ask her, especially not now, not when he was staying away from her to protect her.

What did he think about her? And why? And how could he change it?

One—he cared for her. More than he should. But _not_ like that, _never_ like that. No, no, no, he would never admit it. Admit? No, wrong word. He would never _considerate_ it an option. "Admit" implies that he _did_ in fact like her like that but simply was denying it, and Draco Malfoy did _not_ care for her in more than a friendly way. Never. He'd always run from the possibility.

Two—he cared for her because she was amazing, and kind, and funny, and more of a spitfire than he'd ever assumed before. There was more to her than just frizzy hair, beaver teeth, and a brain bigger than her head. And she cared for _him,_ despite all the things he'd done. That was…incredible.

No. Preposterous.

Three—how _could_ he change how he felt? He…well, Draco could do exactly what he _was_ doing. Staying away from her. He had to keep her safe. He _had_ to keep her safe. He still denied that it was her, but if it _was…_ he couldn't take that chance.

Draco had been pushing her away. He hated it and it ripped him apart that he was staying away from his one friend, but it was necessary. He didn't know what he'd do if something ever happened….

 _No!_ he screamed at himself as he turned down a corridor on the second floor. _No, stop stop stop STOP. It..it c-can't…_ can't _be her._

He was standing before the door of a rather deserted girls' bathroom before he even truly realized where he was. It had been so long since he was here. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

Draco looked around him, seeing that there was no one in the corridor. His hand rested on the handle.

But he couldn't do it. This time around, he couldn't talk to the ghost. He'd had no one to confide in during his first sixth year, which was why he'd talked to her. But now that he knew what it was like to actually talk to someone who cared, who would do almost anything for him, Draco knew that Moaning Myrtle would never suffice.

So he walked away. Up to the Room of Requirement.

You'd think that pacing in front of that damned cabinet time and time again would grow old. And it had. But Draco continued to do so nonetheless.

He couldn't bring himself to work on it. Draco still didn't know if he'd even bring the Death Eaters into the castle. That could bring about her death.

Running from so many things.

Fear grew in his stomach until he found that he was on the ground, kneeling with his palms digging into his eyes. Tears. One from each eye, streaked down his face. More rose in his throat and a sob choked from his mouth.

He was there for only two more minutes before he heard her enter. He stood shakily, his back towards the door. Draco didn't want her to see him like this. He faced the cabinet instead, readying himself to face her.

Granger's gentle fingers rested on his left shoulder lightly, announcing her presence. Her other hand reached around him slowly, tentatively brushing his jaw and enticed him to look at her. He did so reluctantly, body turning so that his chest finally faced the Gryffindor's small form.

Draco could feel her eyes on his white face but refused to look into them. He kept his pointed at his feet instead, refusing to see the pain in her brown depths.

He wouldn't let her speak first. "How did you know?" His voice was quieter than he would've liked. "That I'd be here. How did you know?"

She pulled his eyes up to meet hers and gave a small smile. "I had a feeling."

That smile. Those eyes. The care written on her face, and the fear. That was all it took.

His body moved before Draco could will it to do anything else. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him and burying his face in her neck and bushy hair alike. She was pressed against him, as close as she could be, and it was warm, calming.

Distantly, Draco was embarrassed at his rashness but couldn't care less. It just felt so good, standing in the Room of Requirement with his arms around her as the tears continued to fall. As if he'd been waiting years for this.

It took a moment for Granger to register what was even happening, but she quickly reciprocated the action, small arms circling his waist and reaching up his back. Her hands expertly traced circles against his shirt, rubbing into his skin comfortingly.

They didn't say anything as he shook, sobbing quietly, and she simply was there, holding and helping and being a warm presence. She felt so good, so _right._

He couldn't deny it anymore. He cared for her. And there were consequences, horrible consequences, that came along with it.

She deserved to be warned. If it was her, she deserved to be warned.

But—Draco sighed under his breath in a moment of contentedness, for he was here and _she_ was here and things were simple and nice and good. But not now. He would not ruin this. Not now.

He'd tell her everything. Everything. She needed to know.

In that moment, however, things were simple. She was a girl and he was a boy and they were standing, being, and he loved the feeling of her hands on his back, tracing the same circles over and over again.

Soon. Very soon.

* * *

 **1930\. Short but appropriate.**

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	37. Realization

**Ok so when I said "the next few chapters are huge for Dramione" I actually meant "the next few after this chapter"…. Sorry don't hate me, but this chapter is 1000000% necessary (as you'll come to find) and definitely not bad.**

 **But I promise you, every single chapter for the rest of this story after this one is LOADED with Dramione! Trust me! You'll LOVE IT!**

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 **Here it is! Enjoy!**

* * *

 _"_ _[In the mirror, he saw] a boy who had finally acknowledged, finally admitted, what he'd known all along. Something he'd feared. Something he'd caused. A boy who was terrified at when he'd done."_

 _~Draco, thinking_

* * *

She lay on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, reading. A black-haired boy sat below her, back leaned up against the front of the sofa with his elbows resting on his knees. His wand twirled between the fingers of his right hand, which had turned red from the light of the fire in front of them, while his left hand clung to an old potions textbook. The reflection of the red and yellow glinted off a pair of glasses, perched in front of unfeeling green eyes that looked on in mild boredom. The redhead was gone. Probably off snogging his girlfriend.

Hermione read the words on the page several times. The same sentence, the same paragraph, the same page and story. Five times. Ten times. Uncountable. But she couldn't understand what they were saying because though her eyes took heed, her mind did not.

She laid the book down, spine up across her lap as she sighed. Her right hand flew to the wrist of her left, fiddling with the charm bracelet that she'd worn every single day since Christmas of 1996. Most of the time she hid it under her cloak, though, so people couldn't see it; it was meant for her and her alone. She didn't want anyone else to be a part of that.

He was worse. Worse than ever. As the days in April ticked away like the seconds on a wristwatch, so did Malfoy's mental state, so it seemed. He would sit in class, jaw clenched and grey eyes clouded in anxiety. His grades had been suffering, dramatically so, just like his health.

And there was nothing Hermione could do about any of it. She watched on, an urge to say something, do something, do _anything_ rising unsteadily within her. She tried, oh she tried. But nothing would work and nothing would help. He wouldn't let her.

 _"_ _Please don't."_ She remembered his words to her from the astronomy tower, when she'd told him she'd do anything to help him. She still didn't know why he was so opposed to the idea of being aided.

Maybe it was just because he was so damned proud. Maybe it was because he just didn't want her help. But maybe it was because he still thought he was superior to her. Hermione doubted this; if he thought that then surely, they wouldn't even be friends at this point.

 _Friends._ Disappointing.

"I'm telling you, Hermione." Worse yet was Harry. "He is _up_ to something."

The black-haired Gryffindor would not let up on anything related to Malfoy. Ever since he'd grown paler and sicklier looking, Harry had jumped at the idea of accusing him of anything.

Hermione sighed. "Harry, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Malfoy!"

She rolled her eyes as the boy swiveled himself to face her. "Yeah, okay, I figured _that_ part out. I just meant, I don't know, _specifically._ You can't just accuse him of doing something bad when you have no evidence or any idea of what it could even be."

"I've told you," he groaned, hand tightening and loosening itself around the potions book. "I don't _know_ exactly what he's doing. But I know he's up to something."

"Mmmm," Hermione hummed, going back to her book. "Well I guess we'll just have to trust your gut."

"Why are you so against trusting me on this?"

She froze for a moment. True, she was being more nonchalant than she normally would be, but that was just to throw Harry off her trail. If they talked about Malfoy and she accidentally let anything slip about her friendship with him, the secret meetings and gifts, she wasn't sure how he'd react. She just knew that it'd be badly.

But she didn't let any of her thoughts and alarm show. "Because, Harry, I am a firm believer in accusation based off of evidence. Which you have none of. Which means you can't sentence him to anything aside from your biased albeit _quiet_ judgement."

Harry let out a breath. "I-I know, I know. It's just…it _really_ seems like he's up to something. Something bad. I don't think anything good is going to come of it, either."

 _Neither do I._ Hermione almost said the words, but she bit her tongue. "Just…let me know if you ever _do_ find anything incriminating about him. What?" she asked at his look of surprise. "If you're right and he _is_ actually going to do something bad, I want people to be safe as much as you do."

Harry probably wasn't worried for Malfoy's sake, though. That was the difference between them. Well, that among many things.

"Alright, I'll give you a heads up," Harry agreed, reluctantly dropping the topic. "But I'll have you know: if he ever so much as steps out of line around me without due cause, I won't hesitate to hex him to the moon and back."

Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes with a smile on her face. "You do that, Harry." He was all talk. He wouldn't actually do such a thing unless it was completely necessary, even if it _was_ Malfoy.

"Oh, that does remind me, though," he said quickly, flipping through his potions book. That damned potions book. She hated it.

"Of?"

"Have you ever heard of this spell…Sectumsempra?"

. . . ….. . . .

 _Draco,_

 _I wish I had time to tell you happy things. How I love you, how…well, that's just it, isn't it? There's no other happy thing to report on._

 _Your time is running out. I'm a terrible mother to be doing so, but I must rush you with this. You needn't be reminded the severity of such an issue. The days are going by quickly, as I'm sure you're aware. There wasn't a lot of time to start with and there's even less now. Almost none. Hardly two months left and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is getting restless, agitated. I've been graced with his presence many a time and always because he wants to know if I've any idea of your progress._

 _It is coming along, isn't it? Please tell me it is. Don't tell me. I can't receive such a note. But if_ you _know it's okay, then I will too. Please know it's okay. Please know everything will be alright._

 _I do love you. I know I don't tell you a lot, but I do. I don't know when the next time I see you will be. To be honest, maybe never. You never do know, with these things. But know that I love you and I have always loved you. Nothing you could do could change that. Know it._

 _Good luck, my son. You can do this. I believe in you._

 _Sincerely,_

 _~N. Malfoy_

These bouts of sudden anxiety needed to end. How could anyone put so much pressure on a sixteen-year old? To kill the greatest wizard in the world? To become a Death Eater?

Admittedly, the worst part of his sixth year was brought upon by Draco himself. He never _needed_ to take Dumbledore's hand and relive the year.

But…didn't he? Draco would never in a million years ignore the deal and get killed. This was the only way. The _only_ way.

It wasn't so great. It seemed to be doing more harm than help, as it was.

Draco's hands knitted themselves together behind his neck as he bit on his tongue to keep a strangled cry of fear from escaping his lips. Not here, in the Great Hall with everyone present. Not here. Not here.

He grabbed the note from his mother, shoving it into his robes and exiting. His wand shook in his shakier hand as he faked a swagger from the hall. He had to put on a face, as usual.

One of his hands found its way to his collar, tugging desperately at the suddenly too tight necktie that was choking him. It loosened hastily, and Draco let out a breath. His pace quickened.

He checked behind him as he turned a corner quickly. Maybe-maybe he was going crazy. He was paranoid. But it almost felt as if someone was watching, was following—

No. No. No. The panic was rising in Draco's chest and he fought to keep his breathing even. Fear. Undying terror. He was going to die, his mother was going to die, everyone was going to die, and it was his fault—

He hadn't realized he'd made his way to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom—maybe because of the tears threatening to fall that were shrouding his vision—but he had pushed his way inside before his brain could reason with his emotions. Screw this. Screw everything.

The ghost was upon him in moments. "Who are you?!" she shrieked, stupid pigtails swinging as she swooped down to be face to face with him. "Who dares enter _my—"_

"OUT!" Draco screamed, unadulterated hysteria making his voice high and shrill. One hand flew to his hair, pulling at it harshly in an attempt to calm his racing heart and nerves. " _Get OUT!"_

The ghost wasn't senseless. Dumb, annoying—yes, but not senseless. She shot him a shocked, hurt, and infuriated look before flying off, disappearing through one of the walls and out of sight.

Draco seemed to collapse in on himself. He threw off his tie and discarded his sweater vest, throwing both by a stall before rushing to a sink. He turned on the water, almost missing the faucet handle in his desperation. The water moved slowly, in a drudging motion towards the drain.

His hands cupped beneath the water, hardly processing the feeling of the liquid on his fingers before throwing it at his face. He rubbed the water against his eyes, his cheeks, his neck. Breathing fast, fast, faster than ever. Hyperventilating.

Sobs racked through his body as the water dripped from his face and down his chest, sneaking under the collar of his cotton button up shirt and trailing towards his stomach. It felt icy. He hardly noticed.

Tears poured down his cheeks, too pale cheeks, and he gripped the sides of the sink with white knuckles. His head was down and his hair—hair that had rarely been tended to in the past month and a half—hung lowly over his eyes. Cries still racked his frame, and he shook. Tangibly.

"I…" The words ripped from his heaving chest, barely discernible over hysterical sobs. "I…I c-can't…I d-don't…I don't kn-know what to…." His head bent closer to the rushing water.

His hands gripped the roots of his hair, elbows leaning on the sides of the sink. "He'll kill me." Whispered. Harsh, reluctant, fearful as all hell. "They'll…they'll kill _her._ "

It was at this moment that Draco finally looked up at the cracked mirror that faced him. In the reflection, he saw his white face, streaked with grey tears. Molten eyes wide with terror and acceptance. Stringy silver hair, mussed and across his forehead. Unkept.

A boy who had finally acknowledged, finally admitted, what he'd known all along. Something he'd feared. Something he'd _caused._

A boy who was terrified at when he'd done.

And just beyond his shoulder, a black-haired boy with glasses and a wand, raised ever so slightly.

Draco reacted before he could think. He spun on his heel, drawing his wand and throwing the first hex he could summon at Potter. It shot out and shattered a nearby lamp, barely missing the boy as he jumped out of the way.

As he threw himself sideways, the Gryffindor fired his own spell at Draco, but he blocked it and raised his wand again.

His hex missed and hit a bin. As it exploded, time seemed to slow. Draco saw Scarhead raise his wand, but the curse took forever to appear. It did slowly, flying across the room like a snake through the grass. Visibly slow.

 _Wait._

No. No, Draco knew. He knew how this would end. But he couldn't stop.

Potter slipped on the wet floor as Draco blocked the spell and the boy fell, losing his foot.

He had to stop. Draco was going to get wounded. No, this had to stop—

Suddenly things moved too quickly.

Draco stood above Potter, pointing his wand. The syllables were on his tongue before he could stop them. " _Cruci—"_

 _"_ _SECTUMSEMPRA!"_

That was it. There was nothing Draco could do as rips in his skin appeared out of nowhere, tearing across his body and soul. Red sprayed from his very being, every inch of it, and he fell to the floor, screaming and gasping in agony.

Blood seeped across his eyes and he was blinded. This was worse than he ever remembered, far worse. His throat was in agony from screeching so much, yet he couldn't keep the screams back. It was like he was being peeled alive, skin layer by skin layer until there was nothing left but bone and pain and terror.

And Moaning Myrtle wasn't here. Last time, she'd been the one to get Snape.

Now there was just Potter, looking shocked and horrified beyond words. "No…."

Draco hated him. He hated him for so much. For this. For Granger. For being so bleeding _perfect_ in everyone's eyes.

Potter swallowed and took a step away from Draco's twitching form. "No, I—"

Draco couldn't glare at him for more than a moment. The pain was too great, and he went back to sobbing as more blood spilled from his chest, his face, everywhere. God, it was unbearable.

 _Make it stop._

Another scream ripped from his lungs. " _Please!"_ You could hardly understand him.

Draco forced his eyes to meet Potter's. Saint Potter. He abhorred him.

But he wasn't going to let his pride get in the way. He'd done that one too many times.

Another scream of agony, of pleading. Help, he needed _help._

And finally, the Gryffindor moved. He ran to the door, poking his head out and shouting to anyone nearby. Shouting words, words that Draco could not hear. His eyes were closing slowly, but though he was giving in to sleep, the pain seemed to only worsen.

A tear slipped from his right eye as one last sob left him. Darkness was overtaking him, merciless black. But somehow, this wasn't as terrifying as it should've been.

It brought Draco hope, almost.

Because, he thought as he closed his eyes and let out a breath, maybe if he let it overtake _him,_ it wouldn't claim _her._

There was peace in that.

* * *

 **2412 words. Felt longer.**

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	38. Can't and Can

**Not a long author's note because its late and I want to post this so that I get a good amount of views for it.**

 **Updated twice in one day, not bad!**

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* * *

 _"'_ _I can't hurt you…And I can't…can't do anything. And I can't let you help me and I can't tell you anything because then….' He didn't say it. He couldn't put it into words, because if he did, then everything would be too real. 'Granger, I can't…I just can't feel.'"_

 _~Draco_

* * *

Fear like nothing else shot through Hermione as her jaw dropped and eyes widened simultaneously. A hand shot to cover her mouth as she gasped, and her head started to shake, left, right, left, right. God, this was just the sort of thing she'd been trying to _prevent._ And it was all Harry's fault.

"Harry!" she yelled, trying vainly to keep her voice down in the crowded common room. "You attacked a student! How could you?"

She stood in front of the fireplace, facing the boy while Ron looked on from the couch, leaning forward with his hands clasped. His face showed seriousness and worry, but for his best friend and not the victim.

"I've already told you, Hermione," Harry sighed, turning around and putting a hand on his hip while the other worked at his eyes beneath unsteady glasses. "It was an accident. I didn't know what Sectumsempra would do."

"So why use it at all, then?" Hermione groaned, arms hugging herself to try and calm the racing terror she felt for Malfoy's wellbeing. "It could have been _much_ worse!"

"I felt I needed to use it at some point." The black-haired Gryffindor looked at the potions textbook, which rested on the table in front of Ron. "But now I know. I'll never use that spell again."

"And hopefully the book, either!" Hermione glared at it, before crossing her arms and cocking her head at him. "I certainly hope that's what you meant?"

Harry wouldn't turn around to look at her. That was all the answer that she needed, and she let out a groan.

"You can't be serious."

"Hermione, that book has been saving my ass all year! I'm not going to give it up just because of one…incident."

Hermione gaped, exchanging looks with Ron. "'Incident'?! Harry, you jinxed Malfoy so badly that he lay on the floor, bleeding and crying and _pleading._ Have you _ever_ heard him plead before? That's awful."

Admittedly, even as the blond's best friend, not even Hermione could say she'd heard him do as much. To hear he'd been writhing on the floor, screaming and begging for help…she had to fight back tears.

She blinked them away as Ron finally joined the conversation. "Mate, I think Hermione's right on this one. This Half-Blood Prince bloke can't be as good as you reckon he is. I'm not sure anyone deserves what happened, and this is _Malfoy_ we're talking about."

Hermione turned to the redhead and nodded. "Exactly. Look, I _know_ what that book means to you, but—"

"No, okay?" Harry said, hands clenching into fists. "I can't give it up. I've learned so much, and…." He sighed, shooting it a glance. "I can…I can see what you're saying, but…."

Hermione put her hand on his shoulder gently. "Harry, you don't need it. You've never needed some stupid book to be smart, if that's what you're suggesting."

He didn't say anything for a moment, then offered her a small smile. "Thanks, Hermione. I'll consider it, okay?"

Hermione wasn't entirely satisfied by this answer, but she knew it was the best she'd get out of him for a while. She just nodded, going to sit by Ronald.

Harry kept his back to them, looking at the fire. "But you can't deny it now. He's up to something."

Hermione looked at Ron, caution and apprehension in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

The boy spun to look at them, gaze suddenly serious and almost desperate. "I heard him say things, before we started dueling. He was crying, sobbing more like it; a complete nervous wreck if I've ever seen one. His entire body was shaking. And he kept on saying 'I can't'. What do you suppose that means?"

Hermione frowned in thought as the two turned to look at her, brown eyes watching the fire. Oh, how she wished she knew what Malfoy meant when he said "I can't". He said those words so often that at this point, she should know, but he would never even give her a hint.

 _Can't tell me. Can't allow himself any help. Can't just_ talk _to me._

She looked at Harry. "Did he say anything else?"

His gaze darkened despite the fire reflecting off of and within them. "Yeah, actually. He said, 'He'll kill me. They'll kill _her.'_ "

Hermione blinked in dull surprise and fear. So whatever he was involved in….

"I don't know," Hermione admitted quietly, shaking her head.

….Was going to kill him. _That_ was why he wouldn't tell her.

"Any idea of who he was talking about?" Ron asked. "The 'her'?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably his mother. He has no one else that he cares about for him to worry about. Man _or_ woman."

Hermione started noticeably. _Holy—no. Wha…what? Could he be talking about…._

 _"_ _They'll kill_ her. _"_

Her mouth fell open slightly and she took in a shaky breath, shuddering as it left her. What if…what if he was pushing her away because…because he _had_ to? Because she was somehow in danger?

She shook the thought from her head. If she was in any sort of eminent peril, he'd surely warn her. He wouldn't just ignore her and let her fend for herself. She knew he cared too much for that.

And she couldn't just jump to that sort of conclusion from nowhere. She'd talk to him about it, whenever he woke up and whenever she could meet him in secret.

Hermione hated that she had to keep their friendship from Harry and Ron, from the school, the world. She was tired of sneaking around, tired of caring what other people thought. At this point, she just wanted things to be simple.

She wondered when she'd tell her two best friends; at some point, they'd have to know. And it _had_ to come from her. It would blow up, yes, and things would get messy, but better her than anyone else. Like Malfoy. She didn't want to think about what would happen if he was the one to somehow tell Harry and Ron about them.

Hermione would have to tell the two Gryffindors. That was a fact.

But the day she told them was not that day. She'd find another time. A better time. And everything would work out fine in the end.

It had to.

. . . ….. . . .

It was not with a quiet opening of the eyes that he awoke, but a body-wrenching gasp and heave that forced his entire top half to sit up on the too-clean bed of the hospital wing. Immediately, he regretted his sudden consciousness; a pain ripped through him unparallel to any other, and he cried out before flopping back to the pillows.

His entire being shook from the effort, from the agony. For a moment, he almost forgot where he was, why he was there, who he was and what. There was so much white. Too bright. Too light.

His chest heaved as ragged breaths in the form of whimpers left his throat, tears threatening to fall at the edge of his eyes. A shaking, whiter than parchment hand rose above him, and he surveyed it through dread shrouded silver orbs. Wrapped in bandages, with lines of red bleeding through.

His fingers slowly found their way to his chest, where they shook quietly over crisscrossed gauze mixed with red and white skin. He swallowed, a harsh attack on his throat, and his hand reluctantly moved to his face.

He could hardly even feel any skin aside from the huge amount of bandages and healing pastes. There was nothing around his chapped, pale lips, but aside from one of his eyes and a small part of his forehead and cheeks, no skin was showing.

Draco had hardly even realized that he could only see from one eye. He wasn't sure how he'd failed to recognize it. Probably from his panic and sudden realization that he was awake and _alive._

It squeezed shut, fighting a tear. The simple action seemed to require so much energy, and Draco was sufficiently spent already.

He sighed slowly, head turning to look at his bedside table. Draco was surprised to see that all of his stuff from his dorm room had been moved down for him, including his bookbag, suitcase, and—

A shot of fear raced through him, battling for superiority with the pain. The picture of Granger and him in Potions sat facing him, smiling up in its innocence and good nature.

Had anyone seen this? Would she get hurt from it? If someone affiliated her with him, and she got mixed up in everything, and she got hurt because of _him—_

 _Breathe._

His breathing was coming fast now, too fast. He ignored his aching limbs and grabbed for his parchment, groaning and hissing as he fumbled around in his bookbag. But finally, he found it.

With a note from her already on it.

 _D—_

 _Harry told me everything that happened and I'm terrified beyond belief. Write to me AS SOON as you're up! I'm visiting and I don't care what you say. God, please just be alright._

 _~H_

It was short, but brought a small smile to Draco's face. He wiped it off, biting his lip.

 _H—_

 _I'm awake._

The pain from writing the two words was enough for him to squeeze his eyes shut and bite down on his tongue to keep a strangled cry from escaping. Why, _why_ did this have to happen to him? Still, he kept writing.

 _I'm awake. I can't write much right now because the pain is awful. Come whenever, you know I have no visitors to worry about running into. Tonight. Please._

 _~D_

He flopped back onto his bed, sighing as the ink sank into the parchment. She'd come. She always did. She always would.

He had to explain things. Maybe tonight. Hopefully not.

. . . ….. . . .

Granger came into the hospital room with many a hurried movement. 11:00 exactly. Nothing else could be expected from her.

She swooped to his side, eyes widening at how beat up he looked. Her hand went to her mouth, covering it in shock as she looked at him.

There were too many tears in too many eyes nowadays.

"Malfoy…." Her voice was small, shrouded with grief. "I…."

He gave her a small smile. "Hey. It's okay."

She let out a laugh, a harsh one, and she chewed on her bottom lip with a sort of nervousness. "Things aren't okay, Malfoy. Things are never okay."

Her hand traveled slowly, as if moving too fast would scare him like a wild animal. She rested it softly on the side of his face, feeling over the bandages lightly and rubbing her thumb gently at the skin next to his one visible eye. Hers showed sadness, guilt. Her touch, such an intimate movement in the darkness of the wing, sent a jolt through him, a sudden warmth that he'd never felt and one that he welcomed.

Her brown eyes traced over his face, taking in the little skin that could be seen. "Pomfrey says you'll make a full recovery?"

Draco didn't let himself nod. "Yeah. It'll be a week yet, but I'll get better."

Granger's hand left his face, and the absence almost made him sigh in disappointment. The girl looked down, at her hands, shaking her head beneath the moon that threw the room into white and black light so magnificently. Her hair glowed silver, perfect under the stars, and that satin skin shone flawlessly. She looked to the side, and the silhouette of her face against the white of the walls showed perfect cheekbones, delicate eyelashes.

Draco had to tear his eyes away.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "It's all my fault. Harry's had that book—that _damned_ potions book—since the beginning of the year, and I've always had a feeling about it….I should have forced him to give it to me, and now he's gone and done this…."

She sniffed and he caught her gaze. "Hey, hey, it's not your fault. It was bound to happen."

Draco remembered the first time through, how sudden and shocking the curse had been. It hadn't been as terrible because Snape had found him almost immediately, but this time…it had taken a while.

"Bound to happen?" Granger looked at him, confusion and incredulity on her face. "You make it sound as if it was fate."

He wasn't sure what to say, so he just stayed quiet. He knew she'd fill the silence.

And she did. Seemingly reluctantly. "Malfoy…Harry said he heard you say some things." He froze up at this, but still didn't say a word. "Something about how someone was going to kill you, or how someone was going to kill 'her'."

She looked at him, catching his gaze and hypnotizing him not to look away. He just nodded. "Yeah."

She bit her lip. "Malfoy, I…I can't stand this anymore. You're going to die, at least…apparently. I need to know. I can't do _nothing._ And it's _killing_ me, okay? How can you not see that?" Tears were in her eyes again, and her words were a desperate whisper. "Stop pushing me away."

Draco wished he could tell her that he wasn't, that things were normal, just like they always were. That everything was fine. That she was imagining things and they were good.

But he couldn't. He couldn't lie to her, and she wouldn't buy it even if he did.

He finally broke her gaze. "I can't."

"Harry says you said that a lot, too."

"Because I _can't,_ Granger," he snapped quietly, eyes darting away from her.

"You can't what?" She let out a raspy breath. "Can't what?"

"I can't hurt you," he said. Refusing to meet her eyes. "And I can't…can't do _anything._ And I can't let you help me and I can't tell you anything because then…." He didn't say it. He couldn't put it into words, because if he did, then everything would be too real. "Granger, I can't…I just can't feel."

She grabbed his hand, a sudden and shocking movement that even in its gentleness, made him start. "Malfoy, what does that mean? You can't feel? What…what does that mean?"

He couldn't look at her face or he knew his resolve would crumble and everything would come out. "I-I mean yes, _technically_ I can feel, but I-I can't let myself. I can't, I can't, I can't—" He squeezed her hand. It felt good beneath the aching pads of his fingers. Warm and comforting and welcoming, present and nice.

"Let yourself feel?" Such a small voice against the darkness of the night. "As in?"

No, he couldn't face this. He couldn't tell her, because if he did, and if she didn't feel the same—and when had Draco Malfoy become such a wimp? But what could _he_ do, none of this made sense but it was all his fault and-and there was n-nothing to do for it, but it just—it didn't make sense. _He_ didn't make sense, and _she_ didn't make sense, and both of them together made even less. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't do it. It would only hurt her, and he shouldn't care, but he _did,_ and—

"Malfoy." She rubbed the back of his hand, partially bandaged and partially bare, with her thumb. "Malfoy, there's something you aren't telling me. You know as well as I that I need to know."

He shook his head. "I can't. I can't tell you."

 _Can't tell her what? That I care? That…that there's no one else I care about? That the chances of her making it through this year are minimal at best—_

 _NO! No! No, no, no no no no—_

Granger's hand was at the side of his face again, urging him to look at her gently. He did. He saw fear, and caring, and something else on his face. But he wouldn't fall for that, if he was correct in assuming.

"You've said 'you can't' too much tonight." Her words were delicate on his skin and her breath was sweet against his cheek. His eye softened as it explored her face, every smoothness and curve and plain of it. "It's time you start telling me what you _can_ do."

He blinked and looked away for a moment. She was right. She was always right, just like he was always running.

But he was scared. He was afraid.

But he had to do it. He had to.

"I can't tell you," he started quietly, "because…I don't want to hurt you. Because I _can_ hurt you. I know that, and…it's all my fault. This is all my fault, and I just…I'm not sure what to do about it."

His eye flew to hers, pleading in it for her to understand. She watched him, pain in her eyes as her hand stroked his cheek comfortingly, slowly. Draco's hand moved to cover hers, holding onto it lightly and pressing it gently to his skin. He melted into her touch, into the feeling of her skin on his.

"The only way you can hurt me," she whispered, leaning in minutely, "is by pushing me away."

His throat ached from the feelings rising within it, and he felt tears around his silver orbs. "Oh, I wish that was true."

The girl swallowed. "Then _tell_ me. _Please."_

His mouth opened slightly before any words could come out. "I…I—"

"Please don't tell me that you can't. You _can._ Please." Pleading. Begging.

Granger's eyes caught his, and there was so much emotion, overpowering. Longing—he could deny that no longer—and caring, need, want, brokenness. Tears, about to fall, but not for her. For _him,_ because she cared, and she wasn't afraid to admit it.

She was beautiful. Everything about her was beautiful.

Draco's hand left Granger's alone on his face, moving to her neck, cupping her cheek and savoring the feeling of its smoothness and softness beneath his fingers. Her breathing hitched for a moment and her eyes sought after his, but he just watched his hand on her skin, her bare skin. He swallowed, sadness arising in his eyes, his face when he finally met her gaze.

"I can't feel." His voice was low, quiet, raspy in the suddenly deafening silence. "Or at least, I shouldn't. I shouldn't, but I do, and…and I care. A lot." His gaze dropped, but she beckoned it back to hers with her hand. "I care. A…about you," he finished in a whisper.

Her brown eyes never flickered, never blinked, just smiled at him above upturned lips. "I care, too." So quiet. "For you."

Her lips. Those pale pink lips.

It was in slow motion that he moved. Draco felt himself lean in, nearer and nearer, and he knew she was doing the same. His hand, cupped about her cheek and neck, brought her closer, closer, still closer under the moon and its approving light. Both hands rested on her face now, and she was so soft, so good, so perfect in the darkness of the hospital room that he just couldn't help it. He brought her face up to his, so painstakingly slowly, and her closed eyes fluttered beneath delicate eyelashes. Parted lips, so like his.

They were an inch apart. So close, but so far.

And it was at that moment that everything came crashing down. No. No, he couldn't.

"I care," he whispered against her lips, fighting back a break in his voice as a tear finally fell down his cheek. "But…but I can't. I can't do that to you."

Her let go of her.

Granger's eyes opened and stared at him, hardly anything registering in their depths. Dull surprise, dull hurt. Shocked that things had ended like they did.

He leaned back from her. "I can't do that to you. You don't understand, but…." _But I can't have this. Whatever this even is._

Her eyes blinked rapidly at her feet as she sat back. "I…." The rest of her words were never spoken. The syllable simply fell off her lips, off those pale pink lips, and floated to the ground. Unheard. Unspoken.

Granger was so broken that it pained Draco, more than any curse ever could. And he had done that to her. But it was better than the alternative.

He couldn't lie to her anymore. "Granger…" The word was uttered softly. "I'll tell you everything. Everything. I promise."

Her eyes flicked to his quickly, skeptical that he'd finally succumbed. She looked reluctant to believe him.

He caught her hand. "I _promise_."

She watched their joined fingers with an emotionless expression before nodding. "Okay." Then she pulled away. "I'd better get to bed," Granger whispered, standing.

Draco felt a sudden panic in his chest. A memory erupted in his brain, of the beginning of the year when a bushy haired know-it-all had saved his life from one Blaise Zabini. She'd visited him in the hospital and then left in a hurry after he'd insulted her. He'd wanted to call her back, but he didn't.

He wasn't making that mistake again.

Draco grabbed her hand as she moved to go away. She looked down at him in surprise, eyes wide.

Despite his common sense, he knew he couldn't let her go again.

"Stay." A single word, spoken as a statement, uttered as a beg. "Please."

She looked towards the door before meeting his eye slowly and smiling slightly. She nodded. "Okay."

Granger lay on the bed next to his, though her back was to him. He faced her, watching her with a sad and regretful look on his face.

 _No,_ Draco told himself. _I…I couldn't. I couldn't do that to her. I can't have this and I shouldn't even consider it an option. I have to protect her._

But when he saw the girl fiddling with a charm bracelet on her left wrist, a charm bracelet with a small lion and a piece of parchment on it, a charm bracelet that he'd given her, another part of him fought back.

 _But if you didn't want this, didn't even want to entertain the idea…_

 _…_ _Then why did you tell her to stay?_

Draco swallowed tightly as his eyes shut closed. Oh god.

He liked her, more than he'd thought he'd ever like anyone. He like the girl who'd hated him for years, whom he'd tormented unendingly. He liked the girl who was best friends with the Pothead and stuck up for him despite his idiocy. He liked the muggleborn that knew more about magic than he, a pureblood, would ever understand.

He liked Hermione Granger. Cared for her.

More than liked her, as the night had proven.

And that was the worst mistake he ever could have made.

* * *

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	39. Worth It

**I know it's been a while, but I just finished AP tests and marching band drum major tryouts (I'll tell you the results when I find out, if you don't know what that is just tell me in a review and I'll explain) and a ton of projects, so my plate has been full. Nonetheless! Sorry.**

 **Oh also I didn't feel like writing this chapter. EVERY SINGLE chapter after this one (and I mean EVERY ONE—save for chapter 42) is extremely exciting from here on out. This one kinda just leads up to it. But I promise! Ever update from now on will be SO worth the wait! Love you!**

 _ **OH ALSO PLEASE ANSWER MY QUESTION AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER! IT'S IMPORTANT TO ME!**_

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _"…_ _he was worth facing Harry and Ron. That he was worth explaining their nine-month long story. That he was worth dueling over. That he was worth it. Whatever it was. Plain and simple_. _"_

 _~Draco, thinking_

* * *

A soft ray of sunshine fell over Draco's closed eye, appearing out from one of the heavy curtains of the hospital wing. It blinked opened slowly, squinting in the light of the morning.

Those first few moments after waking are the best; the sleep induced high that still has a controlling grip over your mind and the worriless feeling and knowledge that closing your eyes would bring back all the pleasant dreams. The lack of remembrance. Utter peace and serenity.

Draco sighed lowly, drawn out, content. His head turned to the side slightly, to his right, and faced the snoozing girl on the bed next to his. Distant shock registered for a moment.

Before everything came back to him.

It hit him like a fifty-foot wave and guilt crashed through him. He wished she could understand why he'd done what he did, and maybe she would when he finally explained everything, but it was still doubtful. He should've found a way around all of this.

Her ribcage rose and fell slowly as he watched, and he had to look away, lying flat on his back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. What had he done?

Draco's eye flicked to the clock above the entrance to the wing. His mind was still tired, so seeing that it was 5:59 didn't mean much to him. That is, it didn't mean much until he realized that Madam Pomfrey always arrived at six in the morning to check on her patients.

 _Shit—_

"Granger!" he hissed, wishing he had something to throw at her sleeping form. "Granger, get up!"

She only elicited a soft moaning sound and something that sounded like "Mmmmm, nooooo…" as she adjusted herself against the sheets.

"Granger, you need to get up! Pomfrey is coming!"

This did the trick. The girl gasped and shot upwards, a hand flying to her ruffled hair, which looked twice its usual size. Her eyes met his, and they were wide with desperation.

"Hide!"

She didn't need to be told twice. Snatching her wand from the bedside table, she closed her eyes and tapped the top of her head with it. From the head down, she began to vanish, gone from the eyes within moments.

"Not bad, ay?" she said, humor in her voice.

He rolled his eyes, a smirk playing across his features. "Oh, stop showing off, would you?"

She laughed as the bed she'd slept in fixed itself wordlessly, obviously from her invisible wand and its spell. It was as if she hadn't been there at all.

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy!" And just in time, for Madam Pomfrey had waltzed into the room, carrying a trey of food and potions. "Nice to see that you're awake again and yesterday wasn't just a fluke."

"Morning," he grumbled out, wincing as he sat up. The healer set the trey on the bed to his left, the one where Granger (thankfully) was not sitting.

"Feeling better today?" she asked, removing the sheets from over his lap.

He shrugged. "As good as I _could_ feel, I suppose."

Pomfrey shook her head as she unwrapped the bandages from his chest. "Really is quite a shame what happened. I've never come across such a curse as that one. Wonder how Potter ever learned it...?"

It was a poorly concealed question; she was just dying to know if Draco had somehow learned or even taught the boy "Sectumsempra".

But he didn't feel like explaining it to her. "No idea."

Madam Pomfrey let out a _hmff_ of disappointment. "Well then, there's nothing to do for it. Anyways, your wounds are just common tears and rips, even if they're nasty ones. Nothing a few simple potions can't fix."

She finished with his chest, leaving it bare and red to the eyes of the world. Draco couldn't help but grow hot, hoping Granger had left but having a feeling she hadn't. Pomfrey didn't even notice his sudden discomfort, instead moving to his head and removing the gauze there.

It took a minute, but afterwards, the Slytherin could finally feel the cool air on his skin and could open his other eye. A relieved sigh elicited from his lungs as it focused, doing so after several hurried blinks.

"There we are!" Pomfrey commented, hands on her hips as she looked on with a pleased expression. "Much better."

Draco looked down at himself and had to fight a grimace. Mmm. "Better" was not the word he would've used to describe how he looked. He was still very red, very swollen, and several gashes across his body hadn't healed yet. His hands touched his face, feeling a particularly nasty slash running from under his left eye, the one that had been wounded, across his nose and down his right cheek. It was still open, and the touch of his hand made it throb uncomfortably.

"I know it's not ideal now," Pomfrey said, seeing him flinch. "But it will be. Soon."

"How soon?"

The healer shrugged as she made him up a potion on his trey of food, mixing this and that together. "Maybe another few days, maybe a little more. No more than a week, though, I can assure you that. You've already spent three days in the hospital wing; you weren't awake for the first two, so you wouldn't know, but believe me, you look a good bit better than you did then. You're healing quickly."

Draco nodded dully, taking the trey of food from her and picking at the bagel, eggs, and bacon unexcitedly. Still stirring at the healing potion, Pomfrey shot him a look. "You need to eat."

He just nodded again.

Pomfrey shook her head and sighed. "Well, I'll be back when you finish that food. Drink this when you're done."

She set the potion on his bedside table, but her eyes lingered for a moment. On the table. On a certain photo of Draco and a girl, laughing and smiling in Potions.

He stiffened when he realized she was looking at it, but she just smiled. "What's all this?"

Draco shrugged. "It's what it looks like."

Madam Pomfrey smiled again, walking off as she shook her head. "My, oh my." Her words drifted over to the boy as she made her way to her office. "Who would have guessed…."

Half a minute passed before Granger appeared, her wand at her head as the disillusion charm was taken off. She shook herself before frowning in confusion and looking at Draco.

"What was that about?"

Draco just nodded to the table by his bed. Granger looked at it, then moved closer to it, as she was certain she was seeing things. But as she picked up the framed photograph and her eyes flicked over it, they widened slightly.

"My gift," she said. "I thought you would've put the charm on it, the one where no one else but you would be able to see the actual picture."

Draco shook his head. "There was no reason to."

Granger frowned again slightly. "I thought there'd be _every_ reason to."

Draco sat up more, moving the trey off his lap. "Granger, no one in the entirety of Slytherin house pays me any mind. They don't even look at me, not to mention my corner of the dorm room. Believe me, they wouldn't see it and they _haven't_ seen it. Besides"—he looked away, feeling his face grow red slightly—"I don't really care, at this point, if they _did_ notice. What would they do? You're worth facing them."

He ignored the millions of answers to that question that reverberated around inside of his skull. No, no. They were irrelevant.

Granger smiled. It was a nice look on her tired features, a breakthrough of sunshine on an overcast day.

But it ended too soon as she seemed to wipe it off her face and cleared her throat. "Err—I'd better go and get ready for classes. I'll, uh, see you later though."

Draco nodded. "Okay. I'll write to you."

"And I you," she tossed over her shoulder as she walked out the door. She was already gone.

Draco swallowed, eyes closing as he let out a groan. He'd ruined so many things the night before. Too many. But maybe in doing so, he'd saved her. Maybe.

If it was her at all. No, it couldn't be. It _couldn't_ be.

At this point, the refusal of acceptance was to ease his mind, to cling to a hope he knew was almost nonexistent. Because as the days ticked by, his ability to disregard the inevitable was wearing thin. And he knew it.

But still, he'd continue to ignore himself.

Repetition creates belief creates ignorance creates bliss.

. . . ….. . . .

It was on the following Tuesday that Draco was finally released from the hospital wing. From almost the moment that he took a step into the corridors of the school, even the relatively deserted ones, he could feel curious glances, glances that were considerably less hostile than normal.

Almost no one knew _why_ he'd been in the hospital wing for over a week, just that it had to do with Potter. It was automatically assumed that things were pretty serious, for he'd been gone for quite some time. And Scarhead hadn't said a word, so everyone was dying to know what exactly had gone down.

But Draco was incredibly averse to saying anything, so he didn't. Who would he tell? And it wasn't as if someone would just walk up to him and ask about everything he'd been through in the past week and a half. He'd raise all hell if anyone did.

 _Blast this school and its gossip._ Yes, drama moved quickly throughout the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It was on his second day out of the hospital wing, the Wednesday, that Draco encountered Saint Potter for the first time since the incident. The Slytherin had been strutting down the hall, having attained a good amount of his swagger back since before the duel in the bathroom, sneering at anyone who shot him a look. He was halfway down the corridor when Potter stepped out from the crowds of people lining the walls, blocking his way.

Draco scowled, eyes narrowing hatefully. "Potter." He spat the word, full of abhorrence.

"Malfoy," he said, sounding substantially less aggressive than normal. He looked awkward, opposed to being there. "You look…well." So awkward.

"Yeah, no thanks to you." The tensing of his muscles as he clenched his fists made Draco wince; he may be out of the hospital, but he wasn't entirely healed yet. He still felt that oh so familiar ache.

Potter looked guilty, but also mad, like a child reprimanded by a parent. "Malfoy, I wanted to say—"

Draco's laughing cut him off. "What, that you're _sorry?_ I don't know if I believe what I'm hearing, and I _definitely_ don't believe that you mean it."

Scarhead narrowed his eyes. "I'm trying to apologize."

"Ahh yes, because 'sorry' is going to make everything better. Going to heal the scars I acquired because of your idiocy. Maybe _your_ scar cuts all the way down into your brain if you think that makes even a shred of sense."

"I didn't know what that curse would do." It seemed that he was going to get to the point, no matter if Draco listened or not. "I swear on it, I wouldn't have used it if I had."

Draco tilted his head condescendingly. "Oh really? Well that's great. I appreciate it. _Sooooo_ much."

"I am honest to God trying to apologize. Unlike you, Malfoy, I know when I've screwed up. Even if it's _you,_ I'll apologize."

"Mmmm," Draco hummed, frowning as the crowd—which had finally started paying them attention—looked on silently. "Then why does it seem like you're so averse to being here?"

Potter scowled at the ground. "Just because I will doesn't mean I take pleasure in apologizing to such a filthy ferret as you."

A hand pressed to Draco's chest as he gaped, mocking hurt. "That stings, Potter, it really does. Apology not accepted."

The other boy shrugged. "Well I suppose that's the best I could've done."

"So typical, Potter," Draco tutted. "Does the bare minimum. Takes credit that isn't his, like from, say, a Potions book that never really belonged to him."

Potter stiffened. "That's nothing to do with anything. Besides, how did _you_ even find out?"

"I have my ways. Not to mention I think it _does_ have to do with all of this. I mean, the spell that cursed me came from its pages, no?"

Scarhead's face reddened. "As it is, it's none of your business."

Draco shook his head in irritation, looking upwards and sighing. "Not so bright today, are we, Potter? Or ever, for that matter. Not if you have to rely on a book instead of your own instincts. A book and Granger."

"Hermione _definitely_ has nothing to do with this. That's for certain."

He shrugged. "I suppose you're right about that, but it goes to show what good your own mind is to you."

He was so easy to off put. "Malfoy, I _will_ hex you again if need be."

"Oof," Draco breathed. "What good that apology is doing you now. So sincere."

"Don't you tempt me."

"Tempt you to do what?"

Both boys had failed to notice Granger's sudden presence as she pushed her way through the crowd. Her dull brown hair wafted out behind her, a brunette cloud pulled after a hotheaded jet.

She looked between them. "What's all this?"

Harry scowled. "Just Malfoy."

"No trouble, I hope?" Her eyes were narrowed.

"None."

"Ah. Then Harry," she hissed, foot tapping angrily. "Why is your wand out?"

Draco's eyebrows raised as he finally noticed the drawn weapon at the Gryffindor boy's side, hidden behind the folds of his cloak against his leg. Potter's face grew hot.

"Harry, that is unacceptable." The words were fire on her tongue and scorched the air. "Malfoy hardly just left the hospital wing. It is completely idiotic of you to even _consider_ dueling him in his state, not to mention at all in the first place. As if your reputation isn't bad enough as it is! Do you think at all?"

The victim of her retribution had eyes the size of his widely framed glasses. The whites of them shone against his skin. "Hermione, nothing even—"

"Happened. Right, right." She was enraged at this point. "And there was certainty that nothing _would_ have happened, hmm?" She didn't need an answer. "I've overlooked your stupidity far too long this year, Harry, and I'm sorry to be so blunt so suddenly. But you need to stop this nonsense, no matter who it involves."

His mouth hung open. The watching students' mouths hung open. Draco had to fight to keep his usual smirk on his face, instead of a wide-eyed disbelief and a mouth that hung open.

It seemed that, in a way, Granger had reached her breaking point. At least one of them. A small one.

She glared at the people around her. "What are you all looking at? Off to classes! Go study, read a book." Then she walked stiffly past Harry, not even risking a glance back.

She'd stood up for him. Granger had stood up for _him,_ against the infamous Harry Potter. Her friend of six years. For _him._ Draco Malfoy.

He couldn't help it. Following Granger's trail, passing it off as simply heading in the direction of his next class, Draco kept his head down and refused to meet anyone's gaze. He didn't want to give anything away.

Draco caught up with her three and a half corridors away. Alone, pacing as she chewed on her lip. The tapping of her shoes was her only company until she looked up and stared into his silver eyes.

There was a silence, palpable, for the first good twenty seconds. What should he say? What would _she_ say?

Then. "Why did you do it?" His quiet words withered away in the spring morning.

She shrugged, her previous anger melting away, off of her shoulders and sinking into the ground. "You said you wouldn't care if people knew about this, about…us. I don't know. Maybe it's all bad timing, but…I realized if you don't give a damn, then neither should I. If you don't care, neither should I. And if you do, I should." Her eyes were dark next to the light of the day. "I'll stick up for you when you need it. I'll always be here." She took a small step towards him. "I just want you to know that. That I'm here. Whenever."

That he was worth facing Harry and Ron.

That he was worth explaining their nine-month long story.

That he was worth dueling over.

That he was worth it. Whatever it was. Plain and simple.

Shoot. This was it.

Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair and breaking eye contact, staring at the stony floor.

"How vital, exactly, is your attendance in class for next hour?"

A frown. "Why?"

He couldn't meet her gaze. "Because. I have some explaining to do."

* * *

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	40. Finally

**GUYS I GOT DRUM MAJOR! AND I GOT ALL A's FOR THE YEAR! (I tell y'all what, AP Calculus BC is a hard ass class like WOW) YAYAYAYYAYAYAYYYYY!**

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* * *

 _"_ _But the thing is, I-I'm not scared anymore. Not of this… Not of you."_

 _~Draco_

* * *

The repetition of his footsteps dissipated into nothingness before they even reached the walls of the Room of Requirement. Quiet, grey clips of sound amongst the deafening silence. Spots of black against a blank canvas. A single red tear down a white face.

Granger watched him quietly as his legs paced themselves tired, fingers racing through stalks upon stalks of weary blond hairs. His clothes dripped off his frame, as exhausted as he.

His mind raced as violently as the girl stood stoically. He had no idea where to begin! How did one even go about starting _this_ conversation?

And what did he lead with—Dumbledore and his mission or the fact that he shouldn't even be alive?

He had a feeling that if he led with the latter, Granger wouldn't even be willing to listen to the former. She'd be upset. More upset than she'd be when she found out about Dumbledore.

"I—" Draco cut himself off and the sound hardly escaped. He didn't know what to say after the single syllable. "I…."

God, he was about to lose his only friend.

A breath billowed out from behind pale lips, and his hands rubbed at his face uneasily. Draco's heart beat substantially faster, so loud that he feared Granger could feel the sound of his trepidation through the very floorboards. How could he do this? How had he _ever_ thought he'd have the courage to tell her?

No. He was Draco Malfoy. He didn't _have_ courage. That was what got him in this predicament in the first place.

But right before he could lose all gusto and crumple to the floor, a pathetic waste of material like a ruined scrap of paper, Granger took a step forward. He didn't look at her, but he could sense her sad anticipation and quiet desperation.

And then. And then she had to go and do what she did. What she _always_ did.

Surprise him.

"Draco."

A whisper, but it levelled mountains and broke storms. The Slytherin himself was jerked from his wild thoughts, face snapping to gape at the girl in shock. Ever since the moment they'd met back in first year, he'd been "Malfoy," and she'd been "Granger." That was how it was. That was how it had always been.

But she was done, and he was done. Done with such childish traditions, with what they'd grown used to. Such formality. Such _stupidity._

"Draco." Again, it was sugar on her tongue, and the word banished what was left of Draco's fright and reluctance from his shoulders. He felt a million pounds lighter. "Draco, tell me something. Something I don't know. Something I _need_ to know. Please."

Those brown eyes—those damned brown eyes—had always been so sincere, and the sincerity seemed multiplied tenfold, if such a proposal could even be fathomed. Her eyes told him to trust her. Told him to have courage.

He slowly let out a rattling breath. "You should sit down."

She nodded and did as he said, sitting next to the Vanishing Cabinet itself.

It took a long moment for Draco to gather his thoughts, which was hard after the sudden shock of hearing his name from her lips. But finally, he began.

Finally.

Finally opening up.

Finally letting her in, _truly_ letting her in.

Finally.

"You were right," he started, "about the cabinet." He gestured to it. "The reason I've been so stressed—so anxious—is the reason I've been up here so much. Why I'll disappear and why I've…I've been pushing you away."

Well. One of the reasons.

Granger nodded after a moment.

"It's…" Draco needed to swallow to continue. His heart beat faster and faster, worrying him more. But he just needed to look into her eyes to find the strength to continue. "It's a Vanishing Cabinet. Do you know what that is?"

Granger frowned. "Yes, actually. It allows one to 'vanish' if one steps inside of it."

"Right. Well, they're more complicated than that. They don't come solo, but in pairs. If you were to step inside of one, you would disappear, yes, but…well, 'disappear' doesn't quite cover the definition. You'd be transported, from one Vanishing Cabinet to its partner."

Granger leaned forward, elbows against her knees. "So its like apparation, only between two exact objects and locations."

"Exactly."

"Okay, so…what about it, then?"

Here was the hard part. Draco's mouth opened, but nothing but a small breeze left him. He just had to say it. Just had to spit it out.

His eyes thudded to the floor, hitting with a heavy thump and staying, immovable. "I…After my father's failure last year at the Department of Mysteries—failure in the eyes of the Dark Lord, at least—my family was put to shame. We'd lost any respect we had attained. And to the Dark Lord, this meant we were useless.

"But"—Draco's eyes snapped closed—"he loves games, you see. Loves to play with his victims. To see them— _us—_ squirm. So he gave us a chance to redeem ourselves in his eyes. No, he gave _me_ a chance to redeem the family name.

"Chance." Draco scoffed at the word. "I wish there was another word to describe it. There was never any hope. There _is_ no hope. But I have to try, you see. If I don't…he'll…." Draco broke off. The reality of the situation was too dire. If he didn't go through with it, his mother was dead. His father was dead. Forget about _him,_ his family was gone for sure.

Granger leaned forward slightly. "He'll what?" she prompted quietly.

Draco's back was to her, but he risked a glance at her from behind his shoulder. Eyes glittering with the full magnitude of his issues. "He'll kill them. My family. Me. We'll all be dead."

The words were hardly audible, but Granger's gasp was anything but. It rang out, a sharp slap against the previous unblemished silence.

And maybe Draco's saying that _he_ would also be dead wasn't entirely truthful, but that wasn't entirely out of the picture.

"I…" Granger's voice lilted softly. "Draco, I'm so sorry. You have to let me help you! What was the thing Voldemort told you to do? I'll help. Please, I'll do anything."

Draco flinched, partially because of her use of the Dark Lord's name, but also because he knew that what came next would only make her hate him, would only hurt her.

But he had to say it.

Draco turned so that he faced her, but his eyes remained stapled to the floor. "My mission…" A pause, as if maybe he could escape this reality, but there was no way out. "My mission is to kill Albus Dumbledore."

Silence. Silence identical to how quiet the Room of Requirement had been before his footsteps had decimated the perfect harmony. That was all that greeted him.

Draco looked up to gauge her reaction and was met with the most emotionless face he had ever encountered in his life. Not a shred of feeling sat there, not a flicker of anger or sadness or surprise or _anything._ Just…nothing.

But an exhalation did flutter from her nose.

He kept talking, desperately filling the most unwelcome silence. Anything was better than this.

"I needed to fix the cabinet," he explained quickly, "because I was planning on letting the Death Eaters into the castle so that they could help me. You see, the other cabinet is in Borgin and Burkes, and I figured if I had back up, then maybe it would somehow be easier. Maybe it _will_ be easier." It hadn't happened yet, after all.

Draco couldn't even face her. "I know. It's terrible. It's despicable. But you don't understand, I have to do it. I _have_ to, or he'll kill me and my mother and my father and—It's our only hope. I…I _have_ to."

Still nothing. She just sat back slowly, leaning so that her head rested against the back of the cabinet.

Draco nearly let out a whimper of desperation. "S-say something. Anything, please." This silence was killing him.

It was a full minute before a single word was even uttered. "You _don't_ have to."

He knew she would say that. "You don't understand."

"I _do_ understand. You just explained everything to me."

"Then _I_ don't understand how you can believe I have a choice in the matter."

"There's always another way," Granger said lowly. "Always another path. You could go to Dumbledore. Tell him everything—the whole story—and you know he won't hold it against you. He's a reasonable man, and it isn't your fault that Voldemort has put you up to this. How _could_ it be your fault? He'll understand."

"Oh yeah?" Draco said, hand pulling at his hair, the other one at his hip. "And what would telling him do?"

"Dumbledore can protect you," Granger said, eyes not angry but still on fire. "He can protect your whole family. You can join the Order, I'll help you get used to it. And I'll defend you against Harry and Ron."

Draco scoffed. "Thanks for the offer, but that could never work."

"And why not?"

"Because for one, my father would _never_ allow it. He may be scared straight of the Dark Lord, and at this point it's nothing but an obligation to follow him, but that only means he wouldn't dare dream of going against him. Even if it meant we had a chance at life. Not to mention that no one would believe we had changed sides. They'd just think we were hiding out or spying, and we'd be thrown out on our asses within an hour."

Granger looked him straight in the face. "That's not true."

"It is! If you weren't friends with me, if you still hated me like you used to, wouldn't you think it was a bit suspicious?"

She didn't answer the question. "Look, people trust Dumbledore and therefor his judgement; he's no idiot. If he tells them you're trustworthy, then _eventually_ they _will come around_. Believe me."

Draco took a step back. "No. I can't. I have to do this, okay? Please don't…."

Granger was on her feet now. Her eyes were growing irritated. "Don't what? Don't make you consider a second option? Don't make you understand what a horrible mistake you're making? Draco, you're ruining your life!"

"No, my life is already ruined!" It was nearly a shout. Anger had awoken in his chest so suddenly, like a bonfire, but he couldn't put it out. "The moment my parents began following him, the moment _I_ was forced to, the moment that I was told to do this—my life has already gone to shit!"

"You still have a choice."

"Don't you dare—" Draco turned on her, finger jabbing forcefully towards her face. "Don't you _dare_ tell me I have a choice. A _choice._ Ha! You could never begin to understand how this feels, what this is like. My family is going to die. Because of _me! Because of me!_ They're dead, they're already dead."

"Oh, would you stop?!" Her words were like a punch to his jaw, so sudden, so harsh. "They _aren't_ dead yet! No one is! You're talking about Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard in the entire bleeding world! You honestly don't believe he could help you?"

He glared. "No one can help me. No one can hide long from the Dark Lord. He finds everyone, eventually."

Granger laughed coldly. "So you'd rather try to kill him than put him to any good use. Because then you'd _really_ have a chance against Voldemort."

Draco flinched from the name. "Look, I never expected you to understand. I just thought you deserved to know."

"And I do." She nodded sharply. "So thank you for telling me, I suppose, but…." Her eyes closed and she let out a breath. "I…I don't know what to do. How could you…how could you ever…."

"Because. My life and my family's lives depend upon it."

She looked to him. Brown irises confused, scared, hurt. As if she didn't know the boy she was looking at.

At least now the anger seemed to have seeped away. Now they just stood, contemplating everything that had been said and everything that was left unsaid. It was too much, all in too little time.

How? How could this all be on his—and now her—shoulders?

It didn't matter how. All that mattered was the fact that it was.

They sat down, the anger and fire gone. She clasped at her hands with worry for him and Dumbledore and everything in her eyes. He stared at the ground, emotionless. Just like she'd been.

"There's…" He really _was_ going to destroy his only friendship in one day. "There's something else, too."

Granger shook her head. "No. I don't think I can handle two in one day. For now, we focus on one thing at a time."

He was relieved beyond words, but all he did was nod once.

There was a painful silence that cut into their skins for what felt like a span of time too long to be comprehensible. It was awkward and all too agonizing to have to sit through.

Draco swallowed. He had told her the bad part, so he figured now was as good a time as any to at least hand her a shred of light.

"Granger"—her name ended the cuts from the quiet—"I haven't made up my mind yet. About letting the Death Eaters into the castle, I mean. About…everything."

She sat up marginally. "What do you mean? Why not?"

Draco cleared his throat. "That, uh, has to do with the other thing I needed to tell you. And it's a long story. But I…I don't know what to do. There's…so much pain and confusion and I…."

He was done talking about this. And he didn't want to be comforted, didn't want to be coddled. He wouldn't let her.

"Granger, I have a question."

She blinked, as if off put by his sudden change in mood. Shy now, apprehensive. She wouldn't push it, he knew. He was grateful.

"That night by the lake…" Finally, he would ask it. God, he'd been dying to know every second since the moment had passed. And now. Finally. "What had you wanted to ask me?"

She seemed shocked he'd even remembered. "Wh-what?"

"You know, when we were at the lake." He smirked, a welcome flicker across his face. "What did— _do—_ you want to know? What had you wanted to ask, but you could never pluck up the courage to do so?"

Despite his smirk of humor, her face seemed to fall significantly. Granger's eyes searched the floor desperately for a way out that they wouldn't find, an alibi or scapegoat that didn't exist. Her brow furrowed, and a sort of fear or reluctance filled her face.

But these feelings were gone from her persona within a second. Only confliction remained afterwards, a front to the inner battle that was raging within her skull. Her eyes darted along the ground, but it was no longer so obvious as to why.

But of course Draco knew. He had always known what she'd wanted to ask. He hadn't questioned her sooner because maybe, just maybe, he hadn't wanted to face it himself. And there had never been a reason to.

Now there was. Now she knew his secret—one of them—and he wanted so desperately to know hers.

She seemed reluctant still.

He knew what to do. After all, it had worked on him.

"Hermione," he whispered. The syllables were light on his tongue and he rather enjoyed the feeling of them, along with the feeling in his chest as her eyes flicked to his in shock. So bright, so full, so scared.

"Hermione, ask me something. Something I want to answer."

She swallowed and her eyes flicked to her feet. She bit her lip as a strand of hair fluttered across her face. How he wished he was close enough to brush it back behind her ear for her.

Draco captured her gaze and smiled. "Something we _both_ want to know the answer to."

She looked back at her hands, then nodded slowly, taking a deep breath.

Finally.

Finally.

Finally.

"Draco, I…" Another breath. "Over the years, I've thought of you in many different ways. You were the small blond who sneered at Harry and Ron on our first day. You were the arrogant child who fought with us and tried to get us in trouble. You were the narcissistic pureblood who loved to call me names. You could've been the heir of Slytherin, but not really. I punched you in the face in third year. You tried to sabotage Harry during numerous Quidditch games. You were my enemy in every sense of the word, and rightly, I hated you.

"You sat by me in Potions and mocked me. You were despicable when you lit me on fire. You were vile for laughing because of it. The year started, and it seemed everything would be normal.

"But then—slowly—things began to change. You were the proud boy who apologized to me. You were the kind hand out of the blue who helped me collect my books, that day in the hall. You carried me back from Hogsmeade. You laughed with me about it the next day, and you teased good-heartedly.

"Of course later, you choked me and threatened, but that boy was scared, cornered, betrayed. The next week, you were the wild animal who had made a mistake but regretted it. You wanted to be my acquaintance, then later my friend. You were my shoulder to cry on when Ron hurt me. You allowed me to help when you felt alone and deserted. You were the child who let me—a Gryffindor, muggleborn, know-it-all girl—be your friend.

"You were the charmer who had a snowball fight with me on Christmas morning, and the prideful snob that just couldn't let me win." She chuckled at that, a smile growing on her lips. "You were the gentleman who prepared such a beautiful, _amazing_ Christmas dinner and blew me away at every turn. You were the thoughtful friend that gave me the most breathtaking presents and night of my life. And at New Year's, you were the protector who gave me your own bed to sleep in and your own dorm to inhabit after I drank too much. Not once thinking about yourself.

"And more recently…" Granger bit her lip. "You were the best 'date' to the Valentine's Dance I ever could have hoped for. You visited me in the hospital wing, and you wrote to me every second that you weren't there. You've been the caring guy I've never thought you could be, never thought _anyone_ could be, and it's just…amazing. Confusing. I don't know.

"What I'm trying to say is"—The breath she took was shaky—"You've changed so much. You're so different. I don't know, maybe _I'm_ the one who's changed, or maybe we both have, but any way it is…things are different now. And confusing. And definitely more complicated, especially after the last night in the hospital wing when…" She didn't have to finish her sentence.

"I want to know," She breathed, eyes on the floor, cheeks flared in embarrassment and anticipation and reluctance and _hope._ "What…what are we? What is _this?_ Because I don't understand. I don't understand any of it."

Draco had wondered for weeks, for months, for _forever,_ how he would react when the elephant in the room was eventually addressed. A million different scenarios had rolled around in his head but in truth, the only thing that happened was this: he smiled.

Finally.

 _Finally._

A breath left him, one filled with all the fears and waiting and hesitancy that had ever filled him up. Now was the time. Finally. Finally here.

Quiet. "I've been wondering the same for months, I think. I never knew what I should think. No, that's not right. I think I _always_ knew what to think. But I never wanted to admit it. I was too confused, too surprised, too scared.

"Hermione." He wouldn't go on until she looked him in the eyes, her own full of apprehension and interest, but also anxiety. "I was scared. I _am_ scared, because I've never…never understood this. This feeling. I sure as hell have never had it, so hearing about it was worthy of laughter. And now I know, and now I'm…scared. I don't understand it. And I don't know what to do about it."

Silver mixing with brown, dancing under the greys of the room and somehow creating new shades of new colors with every beat and every step. New emotions, new sounds, new heartbeats of worry and caring and fear for the future and all it held.

"But I think I know," Draco continued, a whisper as small as the night in comparison to the day. "I think I know. There is _nothing_ to do for it, is there? Nothing. Because I know if there was, this feeling would be gone. And you'd be gone. But you're here, you're still here with _me_ of all people and it's wonderful and amazing and so wrong, but somehow…"

His eyes were glued to hers, and his heart simultaneously filled up and emptied out all at once. "Somehow it's right."

Her breathing hitched. Dare she hope, dare she assume, dare she for once let herself be real and normal and let herself want? She dared. She dared him to say those words. Please, please, God please.

"It _is_ right." He swallowed and his eyes flicked to the floor for only a moment before they met hers again after gathering his thoughts. "Hermione, I can't begin to understand it. You've made me feel things I've never felt before. You've made me think about things from a new perspective and made me different. You've shaped me, and I…it feels changed. _I_ feel changed. Because of you. And it's beautiful that such a thing could ever happen, because it happened through someone as beautiful as you."

Her eyes filled, and they spilled over, but not with tears.

Draco smiled so softly at her. "Strange, isn't it? All of this?" How strange indeed.

"You want your answer," he finished. "I think you've got it. I care—so, so much. And I'm so sorry for how I was a few nights ago in the wing. I was an idiot, and it'll never happen again. But the thing is, I-I'm not scared anymore. Not of this." Her eyes were as hopeful as any light he'd ever seen. "Not of you."

Hermione didn't say anything for a very long time. They sat, looking at each other in the dim light of the windowless Room of Requirement. Her shadow fell on his foot, and he played at it with his toe. He wished he was closer.

"I care too," she finally said. Finally. "More than anything. And I feel the exact same. I was scared, just like you. I didn't want to ruin anything."

Draco smiled. "Neither did I."

It was out in the open. After all this time. They'd admitted it, out loud, and the other knew. And they were filled with joy and relief, and things seemed good and happy despite the darkness that Dumbledore's situation cast upon them.

For now, during that moment in the room where they were alone in their privacy and shared relief, it mattered not. Here were two teens from opposite ends of the world, _their_ world, who had finally admitted how they felt. Finally opened up, finally let the other in.

They weren't alone in how they felt about the other, and now they knew it. How liberating it was!

Draco pushed away the fear he knew would eventually overtake him because of her as he stood along with the girl. He couldn't hold it off for long, because he knew it would multiply and plague his mind and heart and body, likely within the hour.

But they embraced, and Draco's mind thrived from the high he felt from just _knowing._ He would panic and cry and be terrorized by thoughts of her death later.

He wanted, _needed_ this small spark of light in his life right now. Even if it would only last for a minute.

He was finally getting it.

After all this time, all the waiting, all the denial.

Finally, they could be together.

Finally, she was his and he was hers.

Finally.

* * *

 **4096 words. Cuuuuuuute!**

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	41. Forever and Always

**Y'ALL THIS IS THE BEST CHAPTER YET OML!**

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* * *

 _"_ _No matter what you do, no matter how things change, even if we're on opposite ends of the war and things are falling apart…I'll_ always _be on your side."_

 _~Hermione_

* * *

He knew it was a dream. This knowledge didn't help.

Freezing hands, his own hands, latched over his mouth but did nothing to muffle his scream of horror. His body shook, tears already pouring down clammy, sickly skin. Raining around him, soaking his clothes and chest and sinking straight down to his devastated heart.

He knew it was a dream. This knowledge didn't help.

Draco dropped to his knees, collapsing completely within himself as a shriek ripped yet again from his throat. It was so shrill, so animal-like. He could feel his throat bleeding, dripping down into the rest of his body, but he didn't care. He could hardly notice.

He knew it was a dream. This knowledge didn't help.

Yes, as he clawed his way forward, towards the heap of clothes and dark hair just beyond his reach, he knew it was a dream. He knew. But he didn't care.

When he was but a foot from the decimated body, despite his attempts to get closer, Draco was no longer able to advance, as if an invisible barrier had been summoned between him and his desired location. He pushed with all his might, but it was impossible to gain even an inch.

He knew it was a dream. This knowledge didn't help.

For there, mere inches from him, lay the body of Hermione Granger. Not a cloudy picture of a person, not an unrecognizable form, but the very girl Draco Malfoy had come to care about. A perfectly clear image, with her neck bleeding unendingly from a deep wound that had no hope of being fixed.

It was a dream. But it was real. It was oh so real.

Pure terror, pure panic seized Draco and his hands went to his mouth again, scratching at the skin and pulling and covering. It was a poor attempt to silence the screams, screams of terror and failure and agony. The boy keeled over on the floor, forehead pressed to the ground and his back arched painfully, but nothing could stop it. Nothing could stop the hurt.

Sobs ripped from him as he finally turned to face the girl. The dead girl. The girl _he'd_ killed, the one _he had killed._ Her head was turned towards him, but those eyes—those beautiful brown eyes—were blank and emotionless. A single tear, a tear of blood, ran down her face and pooled by her mussed-up hair, tangled and ruined and as dead as she. The body was distorted, lying at an angle that was just impossible, and the blood from the wound soaked everything. It seemed to congregate at her stomach the most, which made less sense than anything else, but it didn't matter. Nothing did.

Her eyes were blank, completely empty, but as Draco's pain-filled ones met hers, the girl seemed to speak words to him through the irises. "You did this," they said. "You did this to me. This is your fault."

And those words rang in Draco's head as he awoke in his dorm room, limbs thrashing as very real tears soaked into his pillow.

He knew it had been a dream. But that didn't matter.

Fingers tugged at the roots of his hair as he fought to maintain even breathing. No, no, no no no nononononono—

 _Holy shit—_

He had always known. Deep within him, there had never really been a doubt. Who else could it have been, after all?

But this. This was proof.

It was her. It was Hermione Granger. She was the one he had come to care for. She was going to die.

 _Because. Of. HIM._

Draco turned, slowly, as if in a daze, to his bedside table. He picked up the framed photo that sat there, lonely. It shook slightly in his unsteady fingers. Sitting with his legs crossed beneath him, the sixteen-year-old boy watched the picture as it laid dully in his lap.

A tear rolled down his nose. It splashed onto the girl's smiling face.

Draco's eyes squeezed shut and his head fell into his hands. Shoulders shook in a silent sob, and fingernails dug into his hairline. No. No. No, he had done this. _He_ had done this. _He_ had killed her. She was _going to die. Because of him._

The full realization of his actions overtook him at this moment. The breath was knocked from his lungs and he was left doubled over on the bed, gasping for air that just would not come.

It was his fault that she was going to die. She was going to _die,_ was going to be killed. By him. As good as by him. The full magnitude of the issue slammed onto his shoulders, and terror filled his heart.

 _You bloody IDIOT!_ he screamed at himself internally, great raspy inhales racking his frame as more tears threatened to fall. _You ASSHOLE, you BASTARD! You're vile, you're disgusting, you're EVIL!_

No, no, no no no no nonononononono—

Had he been alone in his dorm room, he would have screamed his throat raw.

What had he done. What had. _He. Done?!_ How could he have been so blinded?! _So STUPID…_ Jesus Christ, he'd…he'd _doomed_ her!

And all because he'd been a coward! A fool! Why had he _ever_ taken Dumbledore's hand?! How could he? How _could_ _he?!_ How had he been so stupid?

The frame fell off his lap. Facedown on his emerald covers. Draco reached out to it and turned it over, swallowing harshly at the sight of the two of them laughing and having fun.

Enjoying life. Not something she'd be able to do for long.

A panicked whimper left Draco and his eyes were closed so tightly that he began to see spots beneath his lids. He hugged the picture to him and shook, rocking back and forth on his four-poster bed. With silent sobs hanging in the air like darkness on a rainy day.

No. No. He had done this. _He_ had done this. No.

She was going to die. He…he couldn't let that h-happen. Never.

He…he had to see her. Had to make sure she was alright.

 _H—_

 _Meet me at 5am in the R of R. Please._

 _~D_

That's all that Draco could manage to write. He just hoped she would comply.

Her response was one word, but that was enough for him.

 _Anything._

. . . ….. . . .

Draco embraced her the moment she walked through the door. Hermione was startled at first that he was so close, but after a moment she wrapped her own arms around his waist. He was hugging her so tightly, as if she'd disappear if he let up his grip even slightly.

He didn't want her to disappear.

After they walked to the cabinet, she just watched him pace and worry for a good minute. Draco's mind raced, and he was glad she was letting him talk in his own time.

He faced her, taking her in. Hair that hadn't quite been tended to because it was early, and she hadn't had the time. Slight bags under her eyes, purple in the darkness of the room. Wrinkled clothes.

She was here, and she was alive. Very much so. No laceration across her delicate neck, no blood pooling by her stomach. Brown eyes that were alive and wide and scared and concerned. Concerned for him.

"I…." The word wasted away. His eyes were already so full, and his right hand combed at his hair in overwhelming anxiety. "Hermione, I don't know what to do."

His voice was weak and quivering, but he'd stopped giving a damn a very long time ago. He didn't give a damn. Not about his voice, and definitely not about himself. He wasn't what mattered.

"I just…I don't know what to do."

Hermione took a step closer to him, a hand outstretched slightly as if to hold him. "Draco…."

"Damned if I do," he whispered. "Damned if I don't. How do you choose between damned and equally damned?"

Hermione watched him. "You choose the one that's less horrible for everyone."

Solitary footsteps reverberating around the room as he paced. "But how do I know which is the worse option? How am _I_ supposed to know which one will bring about the outcome I want?"

Bring the Death Eaters into the castle or don't. Which had a better chance of letting the girl live through it all?

Hermione frowned. "What _is_ the outcome that you want?"

"For you to live." The words were off his tongue before he could even think, and he didn't care enough to regret them as they hit open air and reacted.

The Gryffindor blinked in surprise. "F-for me to live?"

Draco nodded, hands gripping at his hair again as he took breaths to try and calm his heart. God, _what did he do?_

"Er, well I…" she started. "I'm not sure I completely follow."

No, he couldn't explain all of this right now. To say it out loud would only drive him insane. _He_ had done this. But maybe he could still save her.

"I don't know what to do," he repeated. "If I let them into the castle, then I suppose somehow they'd think I was loyal or some bullshit like that." He was talking to himself more than her. "But if I _don't,_ then what?"

"Draco, what are you talking about?" she cut in. "Loyal? What does that have to do with anything? What?"

Draco turned to her, legs shaking. He wasn't even answering her questions anymore. Not out of rudeness, but pure hysteria for the situation. "Hermione, my family is dead if I don't do it. But if I let the Death Eaters into the castle then my family is saved, _I'm_ saved, I think. But I'm not sure if…if I could even do it."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Not sure if you could let them in or kill Dumbledore?"

Draco flinched. "I…I don't know."

Hermione took a step closer to him. "Draco, if you just go to Dumbledore for help, he will help you. You wouldn't have to worry about any of this anymore. You'll be _safe,_ your entire family will be."

He was already shaking his head. "You don't understand. I'm not safe and I'll never be safe, either way. Either way I'm screwed."

"Don't say that." She wore a look of fierce determination, mingling with sadness and a pinch of anger. "Never say that. Draco, if you _go to him—_ "

"Then what?" he turned on her, panic and slight irritation in his gaze. "He hides my family and me away? And you really believe that the Dark Lord won't hunt us down? Won't have us slaughtered like animals? Won't make a public display of our deaths, make it an example of what happens when you defy him? Hermione, I…I really don't think I have much of a choice with this."

"You keep saying that," she said snappily. "And I almost believe that _you_ believe it. But if you did, then we wouldn't be standing here having this discussion. You'd have already made up your mind and there would be nothing I could say to persuade you. So then, why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are we here? Why are we arguing about this if you're so sure?"

Draco let out something that sounded almost like a growl. "Because, I don't know, I stupidly thought that talking things through could help."

Wrong. They were there because he needed to see her face, needed to know she was alive and well. He needed to have a sliver of hope that maybe— _maybe—_ things would turn out right. And maybe she could help him make the decision that would lead to this scenario.

"Talking things through," Hermione huffed. "Well I hope this has been more of a help than a hinder, but it certainly doesn't seem like it. If you were so sure of what you were going to do, then I don't know why I bothered even showing up."

He couldn't take this right now. "Hermione, stop." His voice was smaller than he would've liked.

"No, I just—" She cut herself off, groaning. "I don't understand it! Malfoy you have all these choices and you refuse to see them! You don't have to do _anything!"_

"Yes, I do," Draco mumbled, his back to her. "Look, I.…Stop."

"You _don't_ have to," Hermione argued. She was growing passionate, and her voice carried traces of anger and sadness but also longing and caring. "This is a horrible decision for you to have to make, but you can make the right one! Don't kill him, don't let those horrible people into the castle. You don't have to walk down that path."

"Hermione…" He was growing desperate. His heart was beating faster and faster and faster and he feared that he'd explode if he didn't take a minute to calm down—"Please. S-stop—"

"Why, Draco?" She was only a few feet behind him, talking at his back. "Why? Why ask to talk to me about this, ask for my help, when you aren't even willing to listen? Why drag this out? If you've already decided, then why not just get it over with already? Why not—"

" _Because I don't want to hurt you!"_

The words were a scream, a sob, and they ripped through the early morning air as Draco turned to her, gripping her arms in his cold, able hands. He'd snapped, and he stared into her shocked eyes with widened, crazed pupils. A few strands of white hair hung over his forehead, and they trembled like dead leaves caught in a storm as great heaving breaths left him.

Silence, cold and heavy. That was what pressed in on them after his words faded into the wood of the cabinet.

Hermione stared up at Draco, a multitude of emotions running through her brown eyes as they flicked between his two silver ones. Her right hand slowly reached up to his face, and it rested lightly on his cheek. Her touch calmed him immediately, so that he was left a quivering, sobbing mess. His forehead met hers and he let it rest there, hand easing up on her arm ever so slightly.

"I don't want to hurt you." Again, but quiet now. The words were but a single drop of white amongst a sea of red, a sea of his pain and agony and grief. The words shook, but not nearly as much as he. "I…I _can't_ hurt you."

She wasn't sure what to do, so she just rubbed her thumb gently over his cheek and drew her other arm from his grasp. Both her hands cupped his face lightly as his went to lie on her waist, and they stood there silently, eyes closed.

It was a solid minute before she spoke. "Draco, I'm not entirely sure what you're even talking about, but I do know this: I can take care of myself. You never need to worry about me being in harm's way; I can handle things."

Oh, how he wished her words could console him. They didn't.

He sighed. "It's complicated. All of this is complicated."

Hermione stepped away from him, letting go and entangling herself from his grasp. "I know. I just want _you_ to know that you do have a choice, even if it doesn't seem like it."

Draco looked at her, really taking her in. "I'm not sure you're right."

She gave him a weak smile. "Well I _am_ sure. There's always a choice. You just have to be brave enough to see it."

Bravery. "That's out of the picture."

"And why is that?" Her voice was small but carried so much. Confusion, hopelessness, worry.

"Because everything I've done"— _Everything— "_ has been from cowardice. There isn't enough that I can do now to reverse any of it. It's too late to change anything."

There was a long moment where no one said anything. Then Hermione shook her head. "You're wrong."

"Oh?"

"It's never too late to make the right decision, to start to fix things. Don't you see that?"

Draco let out a puff of air. "No, not really."

Hermione seemed almost offended. "Seriously?"

"Well, it isn't exactly like I've any reason to believe this could all be fixed."

"What about us?"

Draco froze, taken aback and confused. "Us?"

"Us," Hermione repeated, one eyebrow cocked. "Aren't we example enough? I mean, we hated each other for more than _five years._ We were the banes of each other's existences! And now everything is different—so fantastically different—but you can't see that?"

Draco's gaze simultaneously softened and hardened at the same time. "I can, but…it's not the same."

She was irked again. She sighed. "Of course. Of course it's not the same. Because why would it be?"

"Look, I—" Draco huffed out an exasperated breath. "I just—I'm just trying to make the right decision. The one that will turn out alright in the end." _Alright for you. Not me, but you. I wish you could understand._

"'Alright in the end'?" Hermione was incredulous. "Draco, you don't seem to be able to comprehend how actions and their consequences work."

"Oh, well why don't you enlighten me, then, if you're so educated on the matter?"

"Nothing ever comes without its consequences!" Her voice was louder. "Nothing ever has, and nothing ever will. It's just a matter of whether or not you or someone else has to deal with them. You need to be brave and realize that pushing your pains onto someone else does no good for anyone or anything."

She had no idea how right she was. She had no idea just how much she understood about his life. He'd been thinking the exact same thing for the past few months.

But did he say this?

No.

Draco spun on his heel to face her. "I know!" he retorted harshly. "I know that! You don't need to remind me how much is at stake for everyone! You don't need to tell me that no matter what I choose, there will be consequences to face and…and p-people who die because of them!"

His voice faltered slightly, but he regained his volume quickly. "I don't need another person to add stress to my shoulders! I don't need someone else to force their opinions on me; you don't think there are enough people doing that? I-I don't need to see _everyone's_ side!"

Hermione let out a breath, one of disbelief or shock or something of the like. "Draco, I don't think you understand."

"Oh yeah, and what don't I understand?"

"I _am_ on your side!"

These words were so sudden, so surprising that the Slytherin blinked and his mouth opened to deliver a response, but nothing could come out for a long moment. "Wh-what?"

Hermione took a step closer. "Draco, I'm on your side. I know the turmoil you're going through. I've seen it affect you for months and I've seen it destroy you. You're going to lose things—people—either way, and I may try to convince you of what _I_ think is right, but in the end…this is your choice. It is a choice; I hope you know that.

"Draco, I…you know what I would do. But we aren't talking about me; we're talking about you. I want you to make your own right decision. Whether that involves taking a 'side', I couldn't care less. I may not love the choice you make, but that won't change how I feel about you. Because the thing is…I'll be on your side no matter what. I promise. No matter what you do, no matter how things change, even if we're on opposite ends of the war and things are falling apart…I'll _always_ be on your side."

He stood rooted to the spot, mouth agape and eyes staring. Staring at the one person who had said they'd be with him. The person who would support him. The girl who was similar to him in almost no way.

And here she was. Taking his side.

How preposterous this was. No. How incredible.

Before he could think twice about it, Draco whipped around, his wand in his hand, and wordlessly blasted a stream of scorching fire through the air. It smacked into the Vanishing Cabinet, engulfing the furniture in mere seconds and throwing the room into a world that knew nothing but red and yellow and orange. The flames leapt skyward, hissing and cackling mercilessly as they ate away at their victim. Their victim, which had been Draco's tormenter.

He turned, his back to the venomous fire, to see Hermione—who had taken several steps back—with her jaw on the floor in shock. Those brown eyes were enormous, reflecting the chaos in front of them and unwilling to believe that what had just happened had really happened. It was too good to be true, so it couldn't be, right?

Her gaze flicked to meet his, and a million questions whizzed through the smoke-filled air as her bewildered thoughts met with his. She didn't even need to speak them.

Draco swallowed, and he shrugged slowly. "You're the only one on my side. You're the only one who's _ever_ been on my side, no matter what I do. You're the only one who will be with me no matter what I choose. So…so I won't do it. I'll choose you. I'll always choose you."

Tears glittered in her eyes, magnified tenfold by the blazing fire in front of her. "Always?"

He smiled. "Always. I'm on your side, forever and always."

Across her face broke the biggest grin Draco had ever seen. Hardly a second passed before she ran to him and jumped into his arms, pulling him closer and closer so that there wasn't an inch of space between them. He heard her let a small sob of relief flow from her eyes and into his chest, where she buried her face while her arms circled his neck. He just hugged her tighter to him, his own arms pressing her torso against his, as close as humanly possible.

Hermione looked up at him, a smile gracing her features so pleasantly. She was so beautiful—even after crying and arguing and screaming—that it took Draco's breath away. His thumb brushed her cheek, his eyes intimately searching her face slowly and adoringly, and suddenly that smile was gone. Replaced with low and hitched breathing, and breathless eyes that begged. Eyes that spoke the words a tongue never could.

Draco leaned down, heart beating so fast that it almost broke free from his ribcage. She was so close, so very very close, and the feeling of her soft skin beneath his hand and her own fast-moving chest up against his own was enough to make him wild. But she was so perfect, so lovely, that he wouldn't dream of cutting this short.

Hermione's own fingertips rested at his neck, and she pulled him ever so gently towards her. Her breathing was fast, yet slow, and it took all of his control to not just pull her to him quickly; this was torture.

But then their lips were a whisper apart, and he smiled against her. " _Always,"_ he whispered.

And—silhouetted against the burning cabinet as flames the size of mountains were thrown, casting shadows that stretched into infinity—Draco kissed her. He kissed her as if there was no tomorrow, as if there was no yesterday, and there was no good, and there was no evil. There was just them, standing alone in the Room of Requirement next to the neon sparks, and the astonishing feeling of her skin beneath his fingers and her breathing mixing with his.

And she kissed him back.

God, she was sweeter than any candy, as intoxicating as a million butterbeers. Her lips were so enticing, so flawless that he could never get enough. She kissed him back, and he felt that everything would be okay, everything _had_ to be okay. This feeling, this high he got from being with her and feeling her body against his and tasting what he had only ever known as a scent—it was incredible.

All of the confusion, all of the worry, all of the pain from the last few months—from the last _year—_ were held in that kiss. All of those questions, both answered and unanswered, were addressed, and all the misunderstandings were finally put to rest. Somehow the kiss carried all of these and much more, but somehow that only added to it.

Neither he nor she ever wanted it to end.

But as the flames died down and the cabinet turned into nothing but soot, they finally broke apart. Still embracing, they turned to survey the glowing embers, which crackled slightly. Distantly, Draco realized exactly what it was that he'd done, but he couldn't be bothered. He'd made his choice, and he was convinced it was the right one. He would make it be.

Hermione sighed, snuggling up closer to him in his arms. "Thank you," she whispered, her breath cool on his ear.

Draco smiled ever so slightly and kissed her softly once more, reveling at the softness of her lips. Then he rested his chin on the top of her head and closed his eyes. Finally content.

"Anything. Anything for you."

* * *

 **4223 words. Ok but wtf I'm such a good writer, wow.**

 **EEEEEEEEE ISN'T IT SO CUTE?!**

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	42. Getting that Backbone

**Guys OML the rest of the chapters after this one are LITERALLY ALL amazing and exciting and just WOW I cannot wait to see your reactions after I post EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM! I promise you, they will not let you down!**

 **But first, the last filler chapter of the book! It** ** _is_** **important, even if it doesn't seem like it.**

 **Again, remember that Switching Spells are important ;)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _"_ _All that mattered was that she could take care of things. Not that she couldn't before, but now she could_ really _stick up for herself. No one could push her around anymore. Look at her, getting that backbone."_

 _~Draco, thinking_

* * *

There was a certain ease in the way his quill spun between long, spindly fingers and grooved knuckles. Relaxed, almost. As if a weight had been ripped from his shoulders.

Draco sat in Potions a week and a half after the burning of the cabinet, alone save for the cauldrons and murk that drifted by him lazily. Feet up on the desk and a quill twirling between the fingers of his right hand. He was early and preferred the isolation of the room to the overcrowded halls that filled the school. And he could hear his thoughts more clearly, too. There was always that.

Yes, he'd burned the cabinet and though endless worries and doubts continued to fill his tortured head, their voices and screams had dimmed palpably. The more he thought about them, the more certain he became that he'd made the right choice. After all, how in the world could Hermione be killed if the Death Eaters never even made it into the castle? It made no sense. No, this had been the right choice.

It had to be.

Draco had to believe he'd made the right decision. It had been the one Hermione had wanted him to make, so he'd made it. She was on his side after all. And anyways, Dumbledore had made it clear that there were limitless—or as good as limitless—possibilities for how this second chance could end. He'd just have to make sure it ended the way he wanted it to.

He had to.

What would he do about the rest of his family? Well…Draco supposed the only thing he _could_ do was to go to Dumbledore and ask for protection. He didn't want to because he felt something would somehow go wrong…but he needed to be less paranoid. As Hermione had said, this was _Dumbledore_ they were talking about. He could handle just about anything.

And the last time Draco had seen his mother had been at Hogsmeade a few days before Christmas, when Hermione and he had snuck out through the passageway. She'd looked well, if not a little shaken up. And she'd written to him only a few weeks prior. She was fine.

But the recollection of the passageway did bring a sudden smile to Draco's face. He'd forgotten about its existence. Maybe he could convince Hermione to sneak out with him again soon, go grab a butterbeer—though he'd make sure she wouldn't drink too much of it.

He remembered their conversation when they were walking back to Hogwarts through the passageway.

 _"_ _Do you think you can stand on your own two feet this time around, or will I need to carry you back to the castle again?"_

 _"I don't think that's necessary. But it's nice to know that you'd be willing to help me if need be."_

 _"Hey. Anything for the person who showed me how to sneak out of the castle."_

Anything for the person he cared for more than anything.

The bell rang, and Draco swung his feet down from the desk, crossing his arms on the table and ducking his head so that no one could see his face. Students began filtering into the class steadily and the Slytherin could feel some of their gazes on him briefly, but they all flitted away eventually. No one paid him any mind, because no one cared.

No one but her. As she fell into her chair beside him and copied his crossed arms, he felt a smile arising on his face, one that he knew was on her lips, too. A sort of comforting heat radiated off of her, and he realized he'd never been as content or at peace as he was in that moment.

"Malfoy," she greeted, feigning hostility. She wasn't good at it; a bubble of laughter lied beneath the syllables, threatening to pop at any moment.

"Granger," Draco said, turning to her and tilting his head. "You know, I'm really quite surprised that your boytoys haven't figured out about us. You really are an awful actress."

Hermione rolled her eyes, a half smile and a peek of red appearing on her face. "I can't exactly help what I'm not. Also. They're not my boytoys."

"Well, I'm certainly glad. If they were, I think I'd need to have a talk with them."

"Imagine that: Draco Malfoy telling Harry Potter and Ron Weasley to step off from _Hermione Granger._ How odd."

"Oh, I'd probably use that disguise from the Valentine's Dance. They'd never know."

Hermione smiled, a smile that never failed to hit Draco full-force in the chest. "You know, they didn't let up on asking me about who you were for the longest of times."

"I wouldn't have, either," Draco scoffed, shrugging. "But they were probably just jealous."

"Oh, of what exactly?"

"My dashing good looks."

"You forget yourself, Draco."

"Why is that?"

"Because. Mandrake, remember?"

"If you say so, beaver."

She shoved his shoulder, laughing nonetheless. He just smirked and looked away.

Nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about.

Slughorn soon entered the classroom and summarized what the next few weeks' schedules would look like. Because they were nearing the end of term, they would mostly be reviewing in preparation of their finals and the last few tests that needed to be taken. So he spewed out useful book pages to study and told them to spend the period wisely, escaping to his desk to do whatever it is that Slughorns do to pass time.

Draco swiveled in his chair to face the Gryffindor as she spoke, voice low and edged with deeper meaning. "So…anything interesting in your life lately?"

He knew what she was asking. "No, actually, I'm fine. I mean yeah, I'm still nervous about everything, but…" _But I have a feeling that if you're going to live, this is the best way. The best shot at it._ "But everything is okay."

"No news?"

"Nope. None from my mother or anything."

"Good."

Draco nodded, ignoring the rising sense of panic he suddenly felt. No, he had to push it down, because it didn't matter anymore. He'd made his choice, and even if he didn't want to stick by it, he had to. For her.

And also because the cabinet had now been burned down, so there was no possible way that he couldn't.

"So," he forced out, stifling a shiver, "what about you? Anything fun happen that I don't know about?"

Hermione nodded, looking at the desk before laughing. "Yeah. One thing."

"Oh?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Why so nervous about it?"

She let out a sigh, but still smiled. "You're having an awful affect on me, I hope you know."

"Do tell."

"Well for starters, you know how I've been doing more research on those Switching Spells?"

Draco nodded. Admittedly, he sort of despised the charm category because of what had happened at the dance, when Hermione had been cursed when she'd switched his and her place. But she had been obsessed with them and had only ever read more about them since her injury.

"Well," she continued, "one of the more complicated versions that I found in a textbook included the molecular analysis of how it works. It basically switches the positions of two specific particles, particles in the exact form that they are found in a situation, only it does this a million times so that whole masses can be transported.

"The whole topic is quite interesting, really, and there's such a wide range of possibilities as far as what the spell can do. I've been working recently on learning how to switch the conditions that items are found in—but more on that later, I suppose. Anyways, the book then went on to describe how if there aren't the exact same number of atoms of molecules, then simply oxygen is enough of a substitute for the charm to work—"

"Hermione."

"Hmm?"

"Just…what did you do?" Draco bit back a smile. "Cut the fancy talk."

She shook her head. "Of course you wouldn't want to hear the science behind the magic. But fine.

"Long story short, Ronald has been mad at me for about a week or so now. Something about how I hadn't helped him on an essay I said I would. I was with you, though, at the Room I think—I don't know, it doesn't matter. Honestly he'd just been mad because things with Lavender have been falling out and it doesn't look good.

"Well any way it is, I've had enough of this bullshit for the year. And I've never done anything about it, and I've had enough. I'm just done.

"So—" Hermione looked up to make sure Ron wasn't paying attention, then laughed. "God, I'm a horrible person."

"I _am_ intrigued," Draco admitted, leaning his head on his hand. "Do go on. What did you do?"

"I," She started, then let out a small bark of laughter. "I switched his Charms essay for a blank piece of parchment before he could turn it in. It was sticking out of his bag, and I just couldn't help it."

Draco's jaw dropped. "Granger! You sly dog!"

Her head hit the table. "I know. I'm horrible." But there was still a smile in her words.

"Bastardly is more like it," Draco tutted, shaking his head.

"There's more." Her voice was groggy and muffled from beneath the desk. "I ripped his paper up. And burned it. And he never even found out."

Draco laughed out loud, eyes squeezing shut. "Hermione, I—I'm proud, I must admit. Who knew that good little innocent Granger from Gryffindor had such a cruel side?"

"Well it's your fault!" she snapped as her head whipped up, brown eyes bright with laughter.

Draco shrugged. "Yes, that's probably true. But I'm just glad I've been able to teach you how to stand up for yourself."

Hermione grinned. "No more apologizing to them from me."

"So proud." Impressed, too. But she didn't need to know that.

. . . ….. . . .

Hermione left the class before Draco as usual; he quite preferred being the last out. He watched her retreating back, dark curls swinging over her shoulder blades, and a smile ghosted across his face as his books stowed themselves in his bag.

Hermione Granger. How preposterous. No. How incredible.

He'd saved her. He had to keep telling himself that.

The bag slung over his shoulder, Draco stalked from the room, sniffing in disdain as the sunshine bit at his eyes and the heat of the fast-approaching summer tripped his feet. No one else seemed to mind, but he hated temperatures of either extreme.

He walked up a flight of stairs, heading towards his next class, relieved that the corridor next to it was all but deserted; he really did hate having to walk through crowded halls.

Before he could enter the class, though, he heard a rush of violent whispers from down the corridor. Curiosity getting the best of him, he let himself investigate, and turned to see a flash of red and brown hair before they disappeared around the corner.

Easing slowly towards the end of the hall and hiding behind a pillar, Draco leaned towards the conversation. He knew who it was and he wanted so badly to hear what they were talking about.

"What, Ron?" Hermione asked snappily, foot tapping audibly in impatience. "Class is about to start. What was so important that it couldn't wait?"

A few students hurried by where Draco hid, not noticing him, as the redhead sighed. "I'm sorry, 'Mione, but I had to tell you now. I couldn't…."

There was a pause in the conversation before she spoke again. Her voice was softer. "Okay, well, what is it? Did something happen?"

"Well…." Weasley's voice faded out after a moment as he tried to steel himself for what he was going to say. "I…Lavender and I broke up."

"Oh." Hermione's response was tinged with disappointment. She'd expected something actually important. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not." The redhead's words sounded immediately after hers.

"Why not?" Surprise.

Behind the column, Draco's eyes narrowed. He didn't like where things were going. His fingers curled into his palms. Fists.

Weasel cleared his throat. "Look, I'm sorry. For lots of stuff. For this whole year and for ruining things and for fighting with you over _everything._ Thinking back, most everything was my fault, and I see that now. It's my fault we've grown apart and I'll do anything to make it better. Will…could you ever forgive me?"

 _Oh, here we go. Hermione and her forgiveness._

"Of course, Ron," she whispered quietly. "I'm sorry, too."

Clothes ruffled and Draco assumed they were hugging in apology. The Slytherin hated Weasley, but at least Hermione was happy.

If Weasley said anything more, _then_ Draco would get pissed.

But he had to go and talk. Had to go and keep talking.

"And," Weasley started slowly after clearing his throat, "I think you know I want more than to just make things better."

There was a pause. "Meaning…?"

 _If you know what's good for you, Weasel, you'll shut your goddamn mouth right now before I come out there and—_

"Hermione, I've always wanted more than what we had. I thought you knew that." Clothes ruffled again, as if he was laying a hand on her arm or shoulder. "I made a terrible mistake with Lavender. I'm trying to make it better."

 _A mistake that took up the better part of the year. And one that you seemed to thoroughly enjoy._

Granger was thinking the exact thing. "Took a while for you to do so, hmm?"

"Hermione, I'm—" He cut himself, letting out a loud sigh. "Just listen. I screwed up; I know that. And I'm trying to make things better. I…I broke up with Lav because…."

 _Don't you say it, don't you dare._ Draco's fists had tightened so that white spots shone out prominently against his already pale hands. His jaw tightened, eyes glaring at the air in front of him.

The redhead let out a breath. "…because I want to get together with you."

Hermione let out a sound of surprise, and a footstep sounded as she took a step back. The bell rang, but none of the students cared. "Er—what?"

"I've always wanted that, Hermione." Another step forward. His. "I've always wanted to date you, but I've never had the courage to ask. And now that the year is close to ending and I've seen how badly I've messed up, I realize that I can't lose you. I can't keep walking around as if I hate you, because I don't. I miss you and it hurts so badly to see you here but to not be able to talk to you like I used to. So can we just put all this behind us and start something new? Please?"

Draco's nails were digging so harshly into his palm that he wouldn't be surprised if he started bleeding. Still, he didn't care. All he could focus on was the pure loathing he felt for Ronald Weasley, at his temerity for _asking Hermione out_ after all he'd done throughout the whole year. As if he could fix it in three minutes!

"Ron, I…." Draco felt a pinch of fear, suddenly. And how would she respond? She had liked the Weasel for years, and him for only months. So…?

"Ron, I…I can put it all behind us."

"Great!"

"But…no, I won't date you."

Draco had to hold in a relieved sigh, for had he let it loose, the entire castle would have heard. The corridors were bathed in stony silence, and the Slytherin was thankful he wasn't on the other side of the pillar, having to face just how awkward the situation had become.

The silence lasted a minute before Weasley finally spoke. "What?"

"I forgive you for everything you've done," Hermione spoke quietly, "but…I've moved on. I waited for so long, and I had to watch you with Lavender, and I just…I couldn't handle it anymore, so I eventually forgot about everything I used to feel."

"Then remember again!" He sounded desperate. "Please, Hermione, I'll do anything. Haven't you ever thought we were meant to be more than what we are now? You haven't felt that?"

"I have. I…I did. But not anymore."

Draco smiled, not at Weasley's pain but for Hermione's strength. Not backing down to him.

A long silence stretched out again before the Weasel whispered, "There's someone else, isn't there?" When she didn't respond, he growled lowly under his breath.

"I never said that."

He sounded as if he was getting angry. "Is it that miserable wanker you went to the dance with?"

"Don't call him that!"

"So there _is_ someone else."

Hermione let out a huff of exasperation. "Even if there is, he doesn't concern you. And he has nothing to do with what is between _us,_ Ronald."

"I think he has everything to do with us!"

"No, he—"

"Of course he does! If there wasn't someone else, there'd be nothing keeping us apart. Don't you care about me? How could you just throw that away over some tosser?"

"Don't call him that." Words, full of agitation and bitterness. "And you don't understand even a fraction of what's happened with me this year, Ron. You can't stand here and judge me for my decisions." Something like a warning was laced within her voice, a certain spice that Draco had learned to be wary of.

"I can when they're stupid! Hermione, come on, give me a chance. I've apologized, and you know I want things to be better. I miss you and I want you, can't you see that? And if some asshole is going to get in the way of us—"

A slap rang out suddenly, a clap of thunder through the pleasantry of rain fall. Draco's eyebrows jumped at the abruptness of it, but he wasn't averse to the grunt that the other boy let out. He deserved what he got.

"Don't you _dare_ insult him!" Hermione hissed, words on fire with rage. "He's been a better man than you all year long! And given some things, that's saying a lot, for both of you! You want to tempt me? Go ahead, say _another bad word_ about him, but I promise you, you will come to regret it."

There was an exhalation of breath—from Hermione or Weasley, Draco wasn't sure—before the boy talked again. But he couldn't even get a full thought out. "Hermione…."

She sniffed and a few unsteady footsteps sounded. "I mean it. Not another word." Then the steps grew louder and more normal as she began to walk away, leaving him alone and stung. "Bye, Ron."

Draco watched her go from his hidden away crook, a smirk across his lips as pride filled his chest at the sight of her, strutting with her head held high, not even looking back. Hermione Granger, finally getting that backbone she'd wanted so badly. No one could push her around, no one could force an apology anymore. She stood up for herself, she'd slapped one of her best friends—for him, nonetheless—and she hadn't even doubted herself.

Yes, she'd turned into one confident witch. Draco liked to think that maybe just a little, he'd helped her to get that way, helped her to attain that ferocity. A good part had been from him being a jerk, sure, but that was in the past and it had helped in the long run.

All that mattered was that she could take care of things. Not that she couldn't before, but now she could _really_ stick up for herself. No one could push her around anymore.

Look at her, getting that backbone.

Draco smirked again, almost pitying the Weasel for what had to have been a painful slap, and he stalked off to his next class. Just like her, not looking back.

. . . ….. . . .

He knew she'd be in the library later, so naturally, he went to check in on her. Just to see.

"Hey," Draco greeted, finger tracing against Hermione's back as he walked around her chair and sat next to her in the secluded, dimly lit corner of the library. "How are you?"

She shrugged, pouring over a textbook. That was her full answer.

Draco swallowed, head tilting slightly as he surveyed her. "I heard what happened between you and Weasel."

She looked up in surprise, a frown gracing her sweet features. "Has it gotten around that fast?"

"No, I mean—I heard it. Literally."

"Oh." Her cheeks grew slightly red, but out of embarrassment or anger, Draco wasn't sure. "I can't believe him. He had the _audacity_ to…." Her words faded away, but the anger stayed full force.

Draco put his hand on hers, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. "I thought you were great."

She rolled here eyes, but they were caring and smiled all the while. "You're just saying that because I slapped him."

"And also, because you stood up for me." Draco smiled. "And chose me over him. That too."

Hermione let out a small disbelieving laugh. "You doubted I would?"

Draco didn't respond. Truth be told, he had been a pinch scared.

Hermione laughed, twining her fingers with his. "Of course I chose you. After all you've done for me this year, and after all I've done for you, and all we've been through and all you've told me…" She shook her head. "There was no one else. Even if it was Ron." She leaned her head against his. "Your side, remember?"

His eyes closed, and the smile fell off his lips. "My side."

She removed her hand from his, stroking his cheek lightly before bringing his lips to hers. It was sweet and soft and as light as the wind. God, it was so easy to lose himself in her, and suddenly he wished they were somewhere more private, not just the corner of the library—as deserted as it was—because there were so many things he wanted to do. But not here, obviously.

He was sure they'd find time, eventually, to talk about it or (better yet) figure it out without needing words.

But Hermione kissed him one more time and smiled up into his eyes, dark eyes that regarded her with the same passion that reflected in her own, and he had to smile too. How could he not?

Draco stood after looking at his watch, deciding to finally leave her to the peace of the library, despite how very very much he despised doing so. They embraced, her head tucked under his chin, and he allowed himself a sigh of contentedness.

He loved this peace. He loved this quiet.

He wished it could last for the rest of his days. He knew it wouldn't, but oh how he wished.

And how hard he would try to make sure it lasted.

He had made the right decision. He had to believe that.

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 **3847 words. Kinda a filler but HOLY SHIT every single chapter after this one is EXCITING AND LIT AS HELL, BELIEVE ME!**

 **Guys I can't even hype it up enough. You're gonna love it.**

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	43. A Terrible Mistake

**Important announcement at the end, so please read!**

 **Also YES, THE PART I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR A YEAR AND A HALF TO GET HERE HAS ARRIVED! Well not exactly this chapter but you'll see what I mean ;)**

 **Also y'all are blessed to be getting this chapter so early because wow while I'm writing this, I only got 3 reviews for chap42 so please don't make me regret posting this early.**

 **But again, read at the end and you'll see why I'm doing so.**

 **BUT ENOUGH OF ME! READ THE LIT CHAPTER! AHHHHHHHHHH YOU'RE GONNA LOVE IT (maybe), I definitely do!**

 **Enjoy and please don't kill me! Just…read it all. *hint***

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 _"_ _He may have made his decision, and it may have been the one she wanted, but it was all wrong. It had killed her. It_ would _kill her."_

 _~Draco, thinking_

* * *

The memories flashed through Draco's mind, and distantly, he became nostalgic and his heart slowed, thrumming an intoxicated beat from the images.

The first time she'd smiled at him in Potions. The way she threw back her head when she laughed the morning after the Hogsmeade trip when they sat, alone, in the Great Hall. Seeing her visit him in the Hospital Wing after he'd dueled the Weasel when the redhead had hurt her. The radiant look on her face when she danced with him on Valentine's. Sitting with her on the Astronomy Tower and by the Black Lake, processing the pain and concern on her face, all for him. Burning the cabinet. Embracing her, kissing those lips.

And it was as if the emotions he'd felt—the emotions that had awakened him and shocked him more every day—were being replayed, as if they were all new. Draco felt irritation when she'd first begun paying attention to him, talking to him in class. Then he was guilty when he treated her like dirt after she saved his life, which turned into a sort of overall indifference for the girl—not hatred—when he'd found she wasn't so bad. There was the butterbeer incident, and she'd made him smile, though he'd tried to hide it. Later, they'd become friends and a fierce protectiveness encased his heart. He'd hexed Weasley, shoved McLaggen into a punch bowl, and all for the wellbeing of the bushy-haired Gryffindor.

Things began to change very soon afterwards. Christmas morning, where he'd opened up about his family. The snowball fight that quickly ensued, and he'd pulled her on top of him and laughed. That night, that amazing night, where she'd hugged him for the first time and his chest had stopped for just a moment. New Year's. He'd carried her up to his bed, then watched her sleep for just a moment with softness and the start of something else in his eyes.

That had been the beginning. Those few moments.

From then on, he'd denied it.

The dance, which they'd gone to as friends—obviously—despite the pain the word brought to his heart. Visiting her in the hospital, worried for her wellbeing but thinking nothing of it. The agony he felt when he pushed her away, and the guilt that swallowed him when he continued to do so after Potter had cursed him. Fear that he'd screwed things up so badly that they couldn't be fixed.

Then she'd defended him to Scarhead, and he was filled with amazement.

Memories and emotions filled his skull, an onslaught of feelings he'd experienced when he'd pulled her up to the Room of Requirement and finally explained everything. Acceptance of how he felt. Overpowering relief at the confirmation that she felt the same. And something so, so powerful when she'd looked into his eyes and told him she'd always be for him, no matter what. For _him._

That emotion was more powerful than any of the others. All of them combined. Nothing could be more powerful than what he felt for her.

He'd turned and burned the cabinet. Burned it to the ground. Clutched at her as if she was his only lifeline, the only one he cared for, and kissed her against the harshness of the flames and the brightness of the sparks and the darkness of his situation and the wrongness of everything that was happening. But he hadn't cared, and he still didn't. It was wrong, so wrong, yet how could it be? It was her. And nothing about her was wrong.

That was why he'd done it. That was why he'd burned it down. It was for her, it was all for her. It had _always_ been for her.

Hermione.

What a shame it was that in those summer lessons with his aunt, Draco hadn't perfected Occlumency. Not even close.

He was released from his thoughts with such a painful smack to the head that it dropped towards his chest, which heaved and fought for breath. His shoulders shook and his arms quivered with fear, eyes wide and panicked as they stared at his lap. Sitting in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, with his hands tied behind the backrest of the chair that he was bound to, Draco Malfoy was utterly powerless.

And not ten feet from him, held to the wall by one of the many Death Eaters who filled the room, who gripped her hair in between dirty knuckles, Hermione Granger watched, swallowing down a lump in her throat. Head tilted upwards, slammed to the wall, so that her neck was bare and unprotected. She still fought to maintain eye contact with the Slytherin.

"I _told_ you, Cissy!" Bellatrix's words were hissed as they passed. Her feet clipped at the floorboards beneath them while she paced slowly in between the two teens, the reverberation hanging in the stillness of the room. A dagger twirled in her right hand, easily, as if she'd practiced for hours. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy stood by the door, quiet and tight-lipped next to the several Death Eaters who watched in silence.

"I've told you a million times it's because of her! That this filthy mudblood is the one who corrupted your son!"

Narcissa's eyes flicked to her only child, mouth open slightly as if she were going to speak. Draco met her gaze, eyes begging yet stony beneath stringy, unwashed hair. He panted harshly, trying to regain his breath and steady himself. He had to be strong. He had to be.

"I…" That was the only word that left Narcissa Malfoy's mouth for the longest of moments. Until: "I…I don't believe it."

Bellatrix groaned, stamping her foot. "I saw it before! A tiny glimpse of it when he got back from that bloody school, and I tried to warn you but of course you didn't listen! So I had to take things into my own hands. And his memories prove me _RIGHT!"_

The dark-haired witch turned from her sister to look at Hermione through squinted, blood-lust filled eyes. "And now we have the mudblood _here!"_ She smiled and cackled in delight. "Have some fun now, shall we?"

"No!" The word wrenched from Draco's mouth the moment his aunt set her eyes upon Hermione. "Don't touch her!"

The crowd of Death Eaters shuffled and murmured behind Bellatrix as she turned to face Narcissa. "See that?! Doesn't that prove it to you?"

The blonde took a small step back. Eyes still on her son, even as her husband put a hand on her shoulder. "No, it…it's not possible."

Bellatrix laughed, a loud and cruel knife that pierced straight through the heart of the room. "It is! Apparently, Drakey here _cares_ for the dirty little mudblood!"

"Don't call her that," Draco growled, looking up from beneath ratty hair and dark eyes.

The witch didn't even hesitate to slap him, full in the face. He grunted slightly, face turned down and away from his aunt. But he had to face her, had to be strong, so he looked her dead in the eye even as a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.

Internally, he begged Hermione to stop struggling against the Death Eater who held her captive. _Stop struggling for me!_ A plea. _Stay as invisible as you can!_

"I'll call her whatever I like!" Bellatrix's breath was hot on his face, and he'd have flinched back if he had any room to. She held the dagger two inches beneath his neck. "She's a mudblood, Draco! A _mudblood!_ Dirt beneath our—your—feet!"

He had to keep fighting. "She's not."

"She _is!"_ Bellatrix took a step back, arms flailing by her side slightly as she clenched and unclenched her fists. "And she's corrupted you. She's corrupted him!" she yelled, turning wildly on her heeled feet to address the whole room. "That filth has destroyed his mind!"

The watching people, cloaked in black and hatred and resentment, whispered beneath their hoods. Glares of fury were thrown, all at Draco and the parents who had raised such an "easily swayed" child.

"Well," Bellatrix shouted, arms out to motion to the entire room. "We can't do nothing for it! He can't get away with it, for falling for the bitch so easily!"

Shouts of approval rang throughout the room, and Draco was suddenly filled with terror. No, surely she wouldn't—

"Bella," his mother said, quietly yet sternly, unyielding. "Don't you dare lay a finger on my son. I don't care what he's done or what he hasn't. If you hurt him—"

"Oh hush, Cissy," Bellatrix laughed, waving her hand at the words. "You really think I'd go so far?"

Narcissa's eyes narrowed as she took a cautious step forward. "Then why bind him to a chair?"

 _No,_ Draco thought, heart beginning to race. He knew how his aunt thought. He knew what she would say. _No, this isn't right._

"All the easier to deal with him, sister."

 _No, no, no no no—_

His silver eyes flicked to Hermione instantly. Hers had never left his face, but now they sought out the desperation on his features and the utter horror that played out there.

 _No—_

Draco's hands clenched into fists and unmitigated terror swept through him, from his head to his feet in half a moment. His chest began to move quickly, so quickly, too quickly, and he had to get out of these restraints, he needed to—

"Deal with him?" Distantly, his mother's words sounded in his ears. "What do you mean?"

Bellatrix just smiled, a smile that crept across her face like a snail drudged over a rock. Slimy, unwelcome. It was dark beneath her black eyes. The woman took several steps backward, away from her sister, and she just laughed lowly beneath her breath.

"I can't have him interrupt," she whispered. Manic, insane. Limbs twitching emphatically. "He will learn his lesson. And it will be a lesson to all."

He couldn't look away from Hermione, but now she was watching his aunt. _No, no, look at me._ He needed her to. No, he needed to see her eyes. _Please,_ please, _please look at me!_

He struggled against the bindings. The blood stream from his mouth trickled off his chin, dripping down the front of his shirt as he tugged and strained wildly. It was red, black. And against white, it shone even brighter. His movements became faster, more desperate, and hysteria overtook him as she _still_ wasn't looking at him.

"Mudbloods," Bellatrix tutted. "Corrupting. That's what they are. Dirty, filthy, corruptive. _Useless."_

 _No. No, no, no no_ NO! "Aunt Bella, _please,_ I'll do any—"

" _Corruptive!"_ The word tore from her mouth, and her wild eyes tore into him for half a moment before another laugh burst from her chest and she backed away from his chair. "And you don't even see it!"

Her yellow teeth gnawed at upturned lips. "But I do."

 _No…._

"Mudblood. Let's see just how dirty her blood really is!"

Bellatrix lunged for Hermione, ripping her from the hands of the Death Eater and flung her to the floor. The girl whimpered slightly, crawling backwards on hands and feet, desperately trying to get away from the mad woman, a mad woman with a dagger, who just cackled in delight.

Draco ripped at the restraints, terror gripping his heart. No, he had to stop this, had to help her. " _Stop! Please, I—"_

But Bellatrix was already on her, knees digging into Hermione's legs to keep them from struggling, left forearm pinning her down while her right hand raised the dagger. It glimmered in the darkness of the drawing room, laughing at Draco and Hermione and everything that had happened. Mocking them.

"A lesson, Draco," the witch hissed, eyes wide and dark and insane. "It's what you deserve. It's what _she_ deserves."

And with that, Bellatrix drove the dagger deep into the throat of the girl who lay defenseless beneath her.

" _NOOO!"_ It shrieked from his throat, guttural and raw and agonized. " _HERMIONE!"_

So loud, so ear-shatteringly loud, but he didn't even hear his screams. Not over the gasp of pain that emitted from the girl's lips and the sound of her blood splashing to the colorless floor of the manor.

Draco screamed again, arms ripping at his binds but not even feeling the pain. She was so close, but he couldn't even reach her. He could feel the blood dripping from the wounds he was inflicting upon himself, but they didn't matter, they didn't matter at all. Not when she was five feet away, bleeding and dying and—

And finally looking at him. Her eyes were wide and scared and filled with everything—whether they were emotions or tears or pain or—

Bellatrix climbed off the girl, ripping the dagger from her throat. She sniffed at it and held it away from her body as if it was somehow tainted.

"It's a shame, Drakey," she cooed, running the blade over his face so that Hermione's blood dripped into his eyes, over his cheek, into his mouth, and he cried out once again for the girl laying limp on the floor. Bellatrix scowled and thrust the dagger into one of his hands behind his back. "Here. Have fun getting out."

Then she swept from the room, yelling at the other Death Eaters to follow and beckoning Narcissa and Lucius to do the same. Draco couldn't even look at his mother; he knew she wouldn't stay for him.

And before the door had even closed, signaling that Draco and the quickly deteriorating Hermione were alone in the room, he had already cut himself free from the ropes. The boy ran the few steps to the body of the girl, dropping to his knees in horror and denial that this was happening, it _couldn't_ be happening.

But as his shaking hands cupped her neck gently and blood began to pool between his fingers, he allowed himself to break. Her eyes met his slowly, a tear falling from her right one and mixing with the red beneath her. She didn't say anything, _couldn't_ say anything because of the fatal laceration in her neck, but those brown irises said it all.

It made him sob, made him beg, made him plead, made him die. It was his fault, it had always been his fault. And as her hand—the one he clasped between his blood stained, quivering pale ones—fell limp between his fingers, he let out a wail of misery. For here, she'd died. For here, he knew.

He may have made his decision, and it may have been the one she wanted, but it was all wrong. It had killed her.

It _would_ kill her.

Draco awoke, and all of this he realized. But this time was different. This hadn't happened; the dream wasn't real, just as they never were real. But somehow he knew: this was more than a dream. This was the future.

He had made the wrong choice.

Tears streamed down his face, breath coming fast and unsteady. How could he have been so _stupid?!_ Of course the Death Eaters would find him, would want to know why he hadn't carried out his mission! And of course they'd read his mind; he wasn't the most skilled Occlumens, so how could _he_ prevent it?

They'd see everything. _Everything._ And they'd punish Hermione for it, they'd kill her. All because of him.

How had he not seen it before. _How?!_ There had never really been a choice. Never.

And now, there was only one way to fix everything. She'd hate him, but she deserved an explanation.

But not in the Room of Requirement, for he couldn't bear to tell her what he needed to in the very place where he'd given her his word. The word he was going against.

 _H—_

 _Meet me at the Astronomy Tower, 6 tonight. We need to talk._

 _~D_

. . . ….. . . .

He'd thought that maybe— _maybe—_ if he gave himself the whole day, he'd find a way to say things so that they wouldn't hurt. He had been wrong.

Reaching the Astronomy Tower at 5:52, Draco still had no idea what he was going to say to Hermione. She'd scream at him, she'd cry, she slap him, she'd curse his very name. He was expecting all of this.

Of course, he wasn't expecting to halt halfway up the stairs at the sound of voices already speaking.

"I take you with me on one condition: that you obey any command I might give you at once, and without question."

"Of course."

"Be sure to understand me, Harry. I mean that you must follow even such orders as 'run,' 'hide,' or 'go back.' Do I have your word?"

"I—yes, of course."

No, it couldn't be here already. The day that Dumbledore and Potter left campus for a few hours, the day that Draco had snuck the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, the day Dumbledore had died.

Draco began to hyperventilate, retreating back down the stairs. _No, no, no._ His head shook and his fingers scraped at his scalp.

No, it was too soon! He-he still needed to think of a plan! He had to change this, or Hermione was dead, and his family, his mother—

He froze.

His mother. The last time he had seen her. Hogsmeade. Honeydukes. The passageway. Sneaking out.

Sneaking _in._

That was it. God bless Granger, her and that damned passageway had saved his ass!

Draco ran out the door, tearing down the hallways and screaming to a halt by his bedside in less time than what seemed possible. He hastily found a piece of parchment and scribbled a hurried note including instructions and all of the like that concerned the passageway, stowing the letter in his pocket so that he could later send it off with his owl to Mr. Borgin. He hadn't communicated with the man all year, but he'd done so the first time through, so he knew he was dependable.

His plan was in action. Within hours, he knew the Death Eaters would be here.

Draco threw his belongings into his trunk, doing so hurriedly and unceremoniously. He didn't even look at the parchment linked to Hermione's, didn't even comprehend its unnatural heat, just heaped it in with everything else.

The last thing that remained was the picture frame. Alone and ironic on his bedside, smiling up at him. So happy, so friendly.

Draco swallowed his emotions, looking away. Hermione would be crushed. He'd asked her to meet him, then didn't show up. And now he was going to betray her.

A vision of her corpse danced through his mind, of a dagger sticking from her neck. Her eyes on his, her own blood dripping into his mouth and the salty and agonizing taste of it.

She'd never understand why. He'd never had to time tell her. But he was doing this for her.

He'd do anything for her.

Draco picked up the photo and placed it on the rest of his things, closing the suitcase behind it. He would not allow a tear to fall.

Leaving it all behind—for he'd use _accio_ later—Draco took nothing but his wand in his hand and the note in his pocket as he raced to the owlery. His face was stony despite the fear and distraught pain that reverberated within his very being. He knew he couldn't let those emotions show or things would turn out very badly. For him, and for her.

He didn't watch his owl as it flew away. He didn't let himself feel as he stalked the halls of Hogwarts for what he knew would be the last time. He didn't let himself notice the doom that hung in the air or the foreshadowing that snatched after his shoes as they walked themselves tired on the worn floor. He didn't let himself think about the girl who, somewhere in the castle, was already hurting from him, because of him.

He didn't let himself feel.

When he reached the third floor and the statue of the one-eyed witch, Draco's footsteps slowed. He looked at the horribly grotesque statue and felt not repulsion, but sadness. Sadness for all of the memories made with Hermione, and sadness for all of the ones they'd never make because of his foolish actions. Sadness because he'd made the decision, but it wouldn't save her. Sadness because the only way to give her a chance at life was by making her hate him.

He wished he could explain. But alas, it seemed he never would.

Even if she never heard the whole story, it would be better for her to live and hate him than die and understand. He had to do this. He _had_ to.

" _There's always a choice. You just have to be brave enough to see it."_

Hermione's words rang in Draco's ears, but he knew they were wrong. This was the only way. The only way.

The only way to save her, and _God,_ how Draco wished he was saving her. The only chance he had at doing this was to make sure the Death Eaters never suspected any foul play and never followed it up. They'd never have any reason to suspect him, and thusly her. She'd be safe. She _had_ to be.

As for him…well, at least Hermione would turn out okay. That was all that mattered.

But he couldn't let his emotions play out across his face. Draco needed to put up a front, and a damn good one at that.

And by the time that the back of the one-eyed witch statue was blasted apart, by the time that seven Death Eaters stepped out of the passageway and into the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, led by none other than Bellatrix Lestrange herself, Draco was almost confident that the front was a steady one.

He confronted his aunt's wickedly grinning face and nodded once.

Even if his front wasn't a strong one, no matter. He swallowed and turned around.

There was no going back now.

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 **3693 words. I expected it to be 2000 so this is lit XD**

 ** _IMPORTANT:_** **So I won't be back until the 15th, meaning I probably won't update again until the 16th. So that means y'all have plenty of time to review! I'm giving you guys this chapter super early because I hardly got any reviews for chap42, but I felt bad about not explaining why I'm going to be gone so PLEASE BE SURE TO REVIEW FOR THIS CHAPTER AND ALSO OTHER ONES BECAUSE WHY NOT!**

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	44. For Her

**SHIT IT'S GETTING GOOD!**

 **Also**

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 _"…_ _all he could give her was this kiss, for he would never give her the words he wished he could whisper. Not here, not now, for it would only torture him and rip her apart, and of course she didn't deserve that."_

 _~Draco, thinking_

* * *

A song of hurried footsteps against the stone floors and exaggerated giggles erupting from his aunt: that was all that rang along the corridors as Draco and the seven Death Eaters traipsed through Hogwarts.

Empty halls. Deserted pathways. Students were all in bed; warned, surely, by Potter and the pretentious staff of such a "fine" establishment.

And they wouldn't walk alone. Last time, they surely hadn't. Draco recalled Pothead's too confident and too irritating posse of obedient followers. They'd littered the hallways unceremoniously and quite annoyingly put a damper on his plan, so of course he expected them again.

But that was where the Peruvian instant darkness powder and the Hand of Glory came into play.

Up a flight of stairs. Down another hallway. A roll of thunder somewhere in the distance, though no rain poured. Grey walls and grey floors and slightly orange air as it hung, still and violent and moving as uncharacteristically as could be expected.

Draco swallowed harshly, a pang of hysteria slicing through him. No, she would be fine. She would be fine. She had to be.

 _Forget her. Don't let them see her, don't let them in. This has nothing to do with her. Nothing._

They hadn't even neared the astronomy tower when the Death Eaters first encountered Potter's minions. Weasel and Weaslette stood at the end of one hallway, wands in hands and determination slathered across their ugly, red faces. One wore a grimace, the other a scowl. Narrowed eyes.

The Slytherin and his followers jerked to halt as they faced them, and time itself stood still. The adversaries simply stood, simply glared, painfully quiet as the Earth stopped all movement once it'd screeched to a halt.

Draco would have none of it.

"Go!"

Behind him, one of the Death Eaters threw the Peruvian powder at the floor and thrust the Hand of Glory into Draco's hands as darkness exploded down the hall. He alone could see, thanks to the Hand, and he took off running, fleeing past the Weasleys as they coughed and shouted to each other with bumbling tones and agitating idiocy.

Clacking shoes as Draco flew. Screaming feet, voices in his head that were even louder.

 _Go._

 _Hurry._

 _Finish it, fast._

 _For her._

His heart beat faster than comprehensible as Bellatrix shrieked with delight behind him and the hot breaths of the others beat at his neck. His pulse thumped away behind his teeth and a cold trickle of sweat dropped off his brow, as heavy as a bag of wet cement.

But he kept running.

Skidding around a corner, Draco was met head on with a few more members of Dumbledore's Army, but a green curse shot from behind him and distracted them long enough for him to get his bearings. A Death Eater or two broke off from him and faced the students.

They kept running. They kept facing more opponents, and eventually Draco found that he was running alone save for Yaxley. The man shot a Dark Mark into the sky, only to immediately run into another DA member.

Then, it was just him. Draco, running and panting and attempting oh so desperately to steady his exhausted heart.

And he almost succeeded when he was faced—finally—with the beautiful sight of the door that led to the astronomy tower. Almost, for the sight recalled memories of Hermione and sitting with her and flying with her and worrying for her.

He needed to make sure. If things were like they were last time, then the encounter with the Death Eaters wouldn't prove fatal for anyone.

But that was the thing. Things _were_ different. He couldn't be sure. And he needed to be.

So even as his silver orbs cascaded their endless relief over the doorknob, his legs turned and his body ran away from the end of his task.

The sounds of curses being thrown and hexes being blocked was what guided Draco. His eyes were blurry, may it be from the wind or the fear or the tears that did not yet exist, and so he relied solely on his ears.

And as deaf as his ears were to reason, they heard screams quite clearly. Soon he was upon the battle; Death Eaters faced towards the astronomy tower, students and teachers with their backs to the door and their fronts boldly pointed towards the members dressed in black and diseased hearts. They fought valiantly but were being pushed back.

 _Good._ It was bad, but it was good; the closer this reality was to the first one, the better it would be for the girl.

And as if his thoughts had summoned her, she seemed to materialize in front of him. As Draco circled back behind the Death Eaters so that he stood on their side, he came face to face with the very reason he lived anymore.

There Hermione stood, wand arm aloft and firing jinx after jinx at Bellatrix, who simply cackled and blocked them. His aunt's black hair hung over her dark eyes, her tongue sticking out from behind yellowing teeth and upturned lips as she shot a killing curse from the wand that was poised awkwardly above her head.

Draco's heart stopped beating.

Then Hermione blocked it—barely—and it continued its unhealthily fast chorus of thumps.

But he couldn't do nothing—for this reminded him uncannily of his dream, and he couldn't have that. He had to keep her safe.

"I can handle this one, Aunt." His voice shook slightly. He hid it well.

Bellatrix ran her tongue over her teeth and simply grinned. "Give the mudblood hers, Drakey."

Then she turned away, leaping after an already preoccupied Neville Longbottom.

Draco's chest heaved as he looked around, wand raised in mock aggression as he surveyed his surroundings. The Death Eaters were advancing slowly but steadily, and already Draco and Hermione were a good ten feet behind the main battle.

And—God bless it all—no one was paying them any mind.

So forgetting his wand by his side, Draco grabbed Hermione's wrist roughly and dragged her around the corner, out of sight.

She let out a small yelp as she was flung after him and her small fist punched fruitlessly at his forearm. He hardly noticed, fingers clenching around his sweaty palms as he focused _only_ on moving the squirming teen from the main battle.

But then she remembered that she had a weapon, and she finally used it. Draco was blasted away from her, his back hitting the wall as a grunt wrenched from his teeth, head smacking the stone. He let out a small _ahh_ of pain as he rubbed at the back of his head, but the throbbing subsided significantly as his eyes finally flicked to the beautiful witch in front of him, ratty and worn and furious with her wand drawn and her eyes shrouded by hair and betrayal both.

His heart simultaneously skipped a beat, sunk with emotion, and lifted with relief at the sight of those eyes, as enraged as they were. Draco almost forgot the circumstances they were under, for she was all he could focus on, all he saw.

But clearly, she wasn't so stricken. Her chest heaved with breaths and anger, and everything about her stance screamed hostility and hurt.

Still, he hardly processed this.

"Hermione." The word was a whisper, a plea, a relieved sigh against the insanity that such a world had become. It tickled his throat and his eyes softened so much that they could be cut with a spoon.

He took a step towards her, but she raised her wand and pointed it directly at his nose. "Stop. Right. There."

Draco swallowed, raising his arms in peace though his wand still hung from the fingers of this right. "Hermione." It was quiet again, falling off his bottom lip and fluttering to rest at the tip of his shoe.

She didn't say anything, didn't move, just kept her wand pointed between his eyes, the eyes that stared at her so caringly and with so much feeling. Her eyes reflected none of this, only hardness.

Hardness and hurt.

They stood for the longest of moments in that hallway as screeches echoed in their ears and curses reverberated around the school. Draco staring into her eyes, sad but relishing these last few moments and basking in her hypnotizing glow. Hermione glaring back at him, masking her feelings for as long as she could.

It wasn't long.

After what couldn't have been longer than two minutes, her wand fell slightly. Her throat spasmed and her eyes flicked upwards as she wet her lips with a flick of her tongue. Tears shimmered in her orbs, and they refused to meet his.

"How?" she managed. "How _could_ you?"

Draco didn't need to ask what she meant. "I…I wish I could explain—"

" _NO!"_ she shrieked suddenly, all previous gusto returning as she screamed, a scream that tore her throat apart and ripped through Draco's chest, stapling him to the wall. " _No!_ Don't you _dare,_ Draco Malfoy! Don't you _dare_ try to justify yourself! Not after you…you _promised_ me!"

Draco said nothing, just dropped his arms slowly as Hermione raked at her hair with clawed fingers. She had more to say.

"You gave me your _word._ Or does your word somehow mean something different to you than it does to anyone else? Because in the _real_ world—not your world—it's a promise. A _promise._ And you promised me you wouldn't…wouldn't let them in, b-but here you are and here I am and here _they_ are, those filthy bastards!"

Her wand shook in her hand, eyes filled and about to spill over. "I trusted you. I thought I helped you. I thought…I thought you _cared."_

Draco took a step forward, head shaking. "No, no, I _do_ care. Don't say that. I care."

"You _don't._ Not if you'd do this to me."

Draco could feel himself breaking as he stared into her betrayed eyes, saw her lip quivering weakly. "I care, Hermione. I-that's why I'm doing all this."

"Shut up!" She screamed, backing up a foot or two. " _Shut! Up!_ Don't come nearer! I mean it!"

He ignored her. "Hermione, you have to listen—"

"Listen to you? You mean after all the times you ignored me? Pretended to listen, pretended to care?"

"Stop!" Draco ordered it, but still his voice cracked. "I care, Hermione, you must believe me! I'm doing all this for you!"

She shook her head. "That doesn't make any sense. If you were doing anything for me, you would listen, would have kept your promise. We wouldn't be here, screaming and yelling over the chaos of the damn _Death Eaters in the castle."_

Draco gulped. "I know you don't understand, but…." How could he tell her? How could he explain it in the few minutes they had left? "It's for you. This is all for you."

Hermione laughed, cold and harsh. It made him flinch. "Draco, you aren't making any sense. How could _this_ be for me!? I want Dumbledore alive, I want these people gone." Her wand faltered again. "I…I want you here with me. I know you're going to leave."

Draco stepped forward again, ignoring the girl's step backwards and warning grimace. "I'm not worried about _me_ leaving, Hermione. I'm worried about you."

A whimper left her throat. "Y-you're not making sense. Stop it."

"I know you don't understand; how could you? But _please_ try to hear me. This is for you."

"Stop saying that! What does that mean!?"

Draco threw caution to the wind and was at her side in a moment, hands gripping her arms. She gasped at his boldness and her wand was at his chest, burning through his white shirt and into his skin, but he could hardly care.

"Because I don't want you to die!"

Silver mixing with brown. Panic and pain. Desperation and betrayal. Emotions, of hurt and relief and all the like.

Hermione's wand burned hotter. "Wh-what does that even mean? You aren't making any sense!"

Draco's fingers grasped at her arms, feeling her skin against his because he couldn't be sure when the next time would be that he could. "I can't let you die. And I saw what would happen if I didn't do it…and…and I…." He couldn't say it, so instead he shook his head. "And I can't let that happen. Not because of me, and not in this lifetime.

"This is all my fault," Draco whispered, eyes begging for her to know what he was trying to say. "All. And I can't kill you because of my cowardice. I _have_ to do this."

Hermione struggled, trying to get away. "That's all you ever say! 'I don't have a choice, Hermione'! 'I _have_ to, Hermione'! No, Draco, you don't! You don't have to kill him!"

Draco wouldn't let her get away; he gripped her arms tighter and pulled her closer against him. "Screw Dumbledore."

"What?" Confusion.

"This isn't about him; it never has been. And you don't understand that, I know, but it's you; it's always been you. And I'd do anything to fight for you."

Hermione blinked back tears of incredulity and rage and hurt and confusion. She couldn't look at him. "You aren't thinking straight. And you're a liar. And a traitor. I…I can't…."

He wouldn't allow himself to look away. "I know. You're right. But…but I can't let you die. I wouldn't be able to live with myself, and if I have to be on the wrong side, have to become a Death Eater, have to _die_ to save you, for you to see it, then I will." He sought out her eyes. "I _can't lose you._ Even if you hate me, I….I can't lose you. _"_

As stressed as the words were, she didn't understand. She never would. She just looked on with disappointment and sadness and pain.

Their heads both shot up as a distant bang sounded, followed by a cackle from Bellatrix. He was running out of time.

He grabbed her arms again, desperation forcing his heart into a marathon. "Hermione, look at me."

She didn't.

"Hermione, please."

She didn't.

"Her-hermione, _please, please_ look at me!"

There was something in his voice that forced her swirling eyes to flick upwards. As if in a trap, they couldn't look away from the Slytherin that was staring longingly down at her.

"Hermione, I…." Draco's voice faltered, and his eyes flickered between her two brown orbs intimately as the limited time he possessed ticked away invisibly behind his forehead. She just watched him, sad and waiting. His lips were parted slightly, and a breath escaped him as he took her in fully, relishing in her radiance and undying beauty, even in such a mess.

A crash sounded and before he could let himself talk himself out of it, one hand was at her waist, the other cupping her cheek. He kissed her, kissed her through her gasp, kissed her as she struggled to get away, kissed her when she let out a cry and gave in. Draco kissed her passionately, holding her face and her confusion and hurt and trepidation. The heat only grew, and how desperately he wished that they had all the time in the universe. How he wished that he had the world, for he'd give it to her a million times over.

But all he could give her was this kiss, for he would never give her the words he wished he could whisper. Not here, not now, for it would only torture him and rip her apart, and of course she didn't deserve that.

So he gave her this simple gift. A parting gift, a parting kiss.

It was so sweet, and it tore him apart to part from her. His forehead pressed against hers, and Hermione's soft sigh against his mouth.

He swallowed, hating himself already. More than before.

But it was necessary.

"I'm sorry."

With a flick of his wand, Hermione was stunned, collapsing against him with a look of shock and unadulterated rage in her eyes. Draco couldn't look into those orbs, not if that was what they held. For all he knew, it could be the last time he saw them. And God only knew what it would do to him if hatred was the last thing he saw in those eyes.

But this was the only way she'd stay safe, the only way she'd stay away from the battle.

Laying Hermione gently to the side, mostly hidden away in an alcove, Draco backed away. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, despite the fact that he knew she couldn't hear the words, and he ran before he lost what little drive he had left.

And so he left her there, splayed on the ground and broken. He ran, never looking back; he couldn't afford to.

He skirted around the sounds of battle, which were even closer to the astronomy tower than before, but not so close that it put him on edge. Instead, he took a side hallway and raced with all he had, against the wind and the walls and the insanity and the pain in his chest.

For her. For her. That was why he was doing it. For _her._

He had to keep telling himself that. Not for his parents, or the Dark Lord, or Dumbledore, or even him. But for her.

Always for her.

And then he was there, standing in front of the door that led to the stairs that would bring him up to the astronomy tower. Facing his destiny, one he'd already lived through but then fled from.

Again, and the door taunted him, as if it knew everything that would happen while Draco was clueless and grasping at air at best. This was the best shot, he knew that, but…

No. It would work. It had to.

 _For her._

Draco opened the door, and the boy dressed in fear, care, and emotion raced up the stairs.

Shutting the door on his options—and her—behind him.

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 **3000 words exactly. Guys this is getting SO GOOD OML**

 **The climax is almost here. You will know. You will definitely know.**

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	45. No Knowledge Sweeter

**Next chapter is the one I have been waiting for since chapter1. It is almost upon us.**

 **But this chapter is flipping AMAZING and I CANNOT WAIT to see your reactions. So please, REVIEW! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!**

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* * *

 _"_ _Draco was standing, but so clearly on his knees begging for affirmation that he was right, that she would be okay, that she'd live, that she'd hate him but that would be fine as long as she was_ alive _."_

 _~Draco, thinking_

* * *

" _Expelliarmus!"_

Dumbledore looked neither surprised nor angry as his wand leapt from his hand; of course he didn't, for he was expecting Draco to have come running up the stairs and bursting through the door, out onto the astronomy tower. Instead, the headmaster smiled a crooked and shaky one, leaning against the railing for support as his legs threatened to tumble beneath him.

"Draco. So good to see you on this lovely night."

 _Again._ The word hung unspoken on the thick, storm-promising air. It had already happened, _all_ of this had already happened. Yet there they stood, one facing death—accepting it no matter how it came—and the other scared of it.

And all because the latter had decided to run from such an inevitability.

"Professor," Draco greeted.

His voice was swept away by the wind immediately and it was a surprise that the man had even heard the word. He smiled calmly and nodded to the teen, then nodded towards the ground shortly. Over those half-moon spectacles, his eyes hinted towards the floor beneath him.

 _Ahhh._ Of course. Potter would be there, hiding below them in anticipation.

Draco nodded slightly in understanding; he couldn't go saying anything obvious about his second chance.

Draco stood facing the headmaster, wand shaking as it pointed at the man. He swallowed harshly, fighting to remain calm.

 _If I put up this charade, then she'll be safe. She'll be safe for sure._

But he didn't care enough to repeat the conversation he'd had with Dumbledore from before.

The man spoke before he could. "You are troubled, young Draco."

He nodded, swallowing again and pushing away his panic. _She'll be fine, she'll be fine._

"Perhaps speaking about it will relieve you, if only minutely?"

Draco looked to him, seeing only sincerity and sympathy. What an odd thought to entertain: that Draco Malfoy saw sympathy in the eyes of another—sympathy for him—and felt not anger at the pity or disgust, but the overwhelming sensation to crumble and bawl. After all, the man ahead of him was the only one who truly understood what he was going through.

He nodded.

"I…I d-didn't believe you." He needed to clear his throat to go on, feeling as if he was screaming over the wind to be heard. "I thought it was a lie."

There was hardly any wind that evening.

"Why would you think I'd lie to you, Draco?" Remorse, empathy.

The Slytherin shrugged, flinching slightly at the sound of a distant crash emanating from the walls of the castle. "I figured…I figured that somehow, you'd be wrong."

 _But he's never wrong._

"I did not lie to you, Mr. Malfoy."

Hysteria slowly drove itself up his throat, choking his senses and ability to breathe steadily. "I know. I know."

How confused Potter must be.

"But I was so scared," Draco forced, fighting to keep his entire body from quivering. "I…what choice did I have? I _had_ to, I couldn't just…." _Couldn't just die._ But of course he couldn't say this, because it would be too obvious to Potter.

Dumbledore gave him a small smile. "I understand, Draco."

God, it was so cold—cold despite the fact that summer was practically upon them. But Draco shivered, and his nerves raced and his heartbeat shook and his fingers clenched so desperately at the thin strip of wood between them, his last hope and last chance and _her_ only savior. Only possible savior, that was. Maybe if that wand could convince the Death Eaters of its owner's intentions, she'd avoid persecution.

Somehow.

He had to believe it. It was the only thing he could believe in anymore. That what he was doing would save her, and that she'd be okay in the long wrong. Safe from him because of him.

He had to believe it.

"And the Death Eaters?" The old man's words were so loud, even as a whisper.

"Yes?"

"They are here, I take it, from the Dark Mark hanging above me head as we speak."

He could only nod in response. If only he could keep them away, but it was the only chance.

"But Draco," Dumbledore prodded quietly, "I was so sure…" He frowned. "Sure that… _she…_ would convince you otherwise."

Draco blinked. "Y-you know who—?"

The headmaster chuckled. "Of course I do."

"But how?" No one knew about Hermione and him. He had worked valiantly to make sure they were never discovered, could never be suspected. Not a soul had heard, not a soul had seen them. So how was it possible that he just _knew?_

Those eyes twinkled. "Well, many things tipped me off—including but not limited to Madam Pomfrey, of course—but how did you expect me not to notice during Christmas and the dance?"

Draco frowned, his hand tightening considerably around his wand. "Christmas?"

"Draco, there was a total of…half a dozen or less students who stayed at the castle during winter holidays. Of course, I paid attention to them; it is my job after all. And you two weren't the most discreet."

He still couldn't believe that his attempts were foiled so easily. "A-and the dance?"

Dumbledore managed a small laugh, though he winced at the action. "I know how her mind works and I saw through that disguise almost the moment I glimpsed you two."

Draco really hoped that Potter wasn't keeping up with them.

Then again, what would he do?

Draco swallowed a lump in his throat, a breath falling off his teeth. "I…I thought I could hide her, hide it…."

"Oh you did, Draco, you did. I was one of the only people who noticed."

"But—" He cut himself off to heave a sudden bout of anxiety from his lungs. "It's not enough. It wasn't and it isn't and—and she's-she's in d-danger, a-and I—" It was impossible to continue.

"I must admit"—Dumbledore filled the silence—"I thought she would convince you otherwise."

Draco looked up from beneath his mussed-up hair and clammy fingers that ran through them. "Wh-what do you mean?"

He looked to be losing strength as the minutes wore on. "I rather figured that she'd convince you to not see out your mission. Though perhaps your… _lack_ of action can be attributed to her?"

He was talking about the cursed necklace and poisoned mead from last time. Potter would have no idea what he was talking about if he referenced them directly.

Draco just nodded. "I…I s-suppose, yes, that was…partially her. But I've been fighting with myself all year about…."

The professor tilted his head slightly to the side. "Ahh, I see. You weren't sure which path would give you the outcome you desired."

A simple nod, for Draco couldn't begin to dream of speaking. He was close to losing his edge, losing his mind, his sanity, and so he chose to simply jerk his head up, and then to jerk it down.

"Am I correct in assuming that—perhaps—your preferred outcome has changed?"

Draco's wand dropped slightly as the words sunk in, and the magnitude of the situation slammed into him once again. His eyes drilled shut, face contorting as he wildly fought back tears. No, not here. But he was already reeling over, non-wand arm wrapping around his middle.

"I…." A tear threatened at his eyes, and he screamed at himself that if he let it fall, there would be emotions and eventual suspicions and Legilimency and— _No!_

"I…I can't lose her." Barely a whisper, yet he was sure that the headmaster heard him. "I c _-can't_ lose her. Not—" Choking down a sob that threatened at his face. "N-not because of _me._ And she'll never understand why I need to do this, wh-why she h-has to hate me, but…."

Dumbledore nodded quietly. If he had the strength, Draco was sure he would have moved to console him, but as it was, his only support was the bar beneath his hand that was being squeezed by white and dying knuckles.

"I understand," Dumbledore said. "She _did_ convince you, didn't she?"

A moment of tense silence as the boy fought to control himself, then a stiff nod.

"But something changed?"

"I saw." Draco straightened, wand rising slightly towards the man—for the façade must be kept up for when they were eventually interrupted. "I saw what would happen if I…if I didn't do it. If I didn't let them in."

Dumbledore watched his eyes. "It wasn't your death you saw, was it, Draco?"

Fingers clenching around his wand. "No. It wasn't."

And on the astronomy tower, with the Death Eaters inches from their doorstep with death hanging in the dusking air and terror and apprehension new on the breeze, Dumbledore smiled. So out of place, yet so perfect for the situation.

"Then you _have_ changed. You don't want what you originally wanted, do you?"

Draco was shaking, trembling against the warm and freezing wind. "I thought you would be wrong. I thought I could _prove_ you wrong. Be-because why—why the _hell—_ would I care this time? How could I come to care for some random, unimportant, stupid person? I…I was adamant. You'd be wrong and I'd prevail and I would live through everything, a-and maybe things would turn out the same b-but this time I wouldn't…" _Wouldn't die._

"But I was wrong." He continued, forcing down his tears, tears for her, only for her, for her and her wellbeing because how could he have been so _stupid?_ "I was so wrong, and now she's…she's….And it's all my fault! And I don't know how to save her or anyone and I just can't think of anything else to do because this way at least there's a chance—even a small one—that everything will turn out okay."

Draco readjusted his grip on his wand, forcing himself to straighten. _Be strong, be strong._ "And this is the only way I can think of. I know what would happen if I didn't let them in, even…even if it's what she w-wanted. But this is the best choice. Maybe…maybe she'll be okay.

"No—she _has_ to be okay!" He almost screamed this at Dumbledore in his desperation. "It's for her. She'll be okay. She'll hate me, but she'll be s-safe. Even though I betrayed her. And went against my word. And her. But it's all for the best. It has to be."

The words were so obviously a plea, so clearly a beg of confirmation that Dumbledore should solidify. Draco was standing, but so clearly on his knees begging for affirmation that he was right, that she would be okay, that she'd live, that she'd hate him but that would be fine as long as she was _alive._

"Please," Draco whispered, so quietly that it was impossible that Potter could hear any of it. "Please tell me I'm right. Tell me she will be safe."

A sad smile fluttered across Dumbledore's sunken and withered features, hardly reaching his eyes. "Draco. I understand."

"I'm doing it for her. I _have_ to. It's the only way."

"I understand, son. Things don't always turn out the way we expect them to. I'm so sorry."

Draco swallowed. "Th-that's why I had to change my mind and had to let them in. F-for her. And I was wrong before. I didn't expect…" He broke off again. "Please. T-tell me she will be safe."

Dumbledore stood watching him for a moment before he opened his mouth. He took in a long, raspy gulp of air, looking physically pained to be doing so.

But before he could even utter a syllable, the door to the astronomy tower banged open, making Draco jump as it clanged against the wall violently.

Looking away from the metal door, Draco's eyes connected with the tangled black hair of his aunt, slowly leading the other six Death Eaters into the small space of the astronomy tower. He had never seen her grinning so widely, the edges of her lips as good as stapled to just below where her ear lobes dangled. One black eye peeked out from behind her ratty hair, tongue running over her yellow teeth as the other followers of the Dark Lord fanned out around her, circling Draco and Dumbledore.

Bellatrix looked at her nephew for a moment, and something—Draco wasn't sure what—flashed in her eyes briefly before she pointed her attention back at the quickly deteriorating professor in front of her.

"Well done, Draco," she hissed in his ear, loudly and with a sort of giggle in her throat as she passed him slowly, heeled feet clicking on the ground. "Well done."

"Mrs. Lestrange," Dumbledore greeted, leaning back against the railing. It was incredible how calm he looked. But then again, Draco figured, the man had accepted his fate long ago.

If only Draco had done the same.

But he had been stupid, of course, and now here they were.

And he was ten times more terrified than he had been the first time.

"Cut the formalities, Albus," Bellatrix snarled, eyes narrowed into tiny balls of fire. "We're on a bit of a tight schedule. Don't have time for chit-chat, I'm afraid."

"Ah, I see," the headmaster said quietly, nodding. "I take it you had a bit of trouble getting here?"

She glared at him. "A small prick in my side is all that your forces were—if you can even call them that."

Then her attention snapped to Draco and her body followed suit. "Do it, Draco! Now!"

Draco just swallowed, jaw clenched as he stared straight ahead of him. He couldn't look at the man he was ordered to kill nor his aunt nor any of the other Death Eaters.

"He doesn't have the guts." Speaking of one of the others. Yaxley.

A snarl, something that sounded like a laugh, maybe. Fenrir. "Just like his father. _Useless."_

The word reminded Draco of his dream, where Bellatrix had screamed of corruptive and useless mudbloods, and the teen just tensed even more. _Don't think about her, don't think about her, don't—_

"Shut it!" his aunt screamed, whirling to glare at the others. "The Dark Lord ordered the boy to do it! He will do it!"

"So do it, then."

"Go on, _Drakey."_

Such over the top mockery. It made his insides flare and his fists clench.

 _Not about Dumbledore. It's not for him, or the Dark Lord, or Father, or me._

"No."

 _It's about her._

And there was Snape's voice, cutting through Draco's head and making his wand drop ever so slightly as he turned to watch him approach. It was the exact same, the _exact same_ as before, and for just a moment, Draco allowed himself to believe that maybe everything had been a dream. Maybe it was all in his imagination. Maybe he'd made it all up and this time, he could just accept death.

Dumbledore certainly did.

As he was struck with the curse, the curse that came from Snape's wand, the headmaster didn't fight Death's embrace at all. He fell into it, safe in the fingers of eternity even as his body toppled over the edge of the tower and sank from Draco's view.

And just like before, Snape fled. He turned, speeding from the astronomy tower without even checking to see if anyone was following.

The same. A dream. It had to be a dream.

And just like before, the sound of Potter screaming the Potions master's name and running after him drifted up towards Draco, the slamming of the door announcing the Chosen One's absence.

If not a dream, then it was a projection from his exhausted and overexerted mind. He'd worked on the cabinet tirelessly, after all. It only made sense to have imagined a universe where someone cared, where someone talked to him and laughed with him and played with him in the snow and danced with him and visited him in the hospital wing and kissed him and cried for him.

It was only to be expected, but it was in his imagination. It had to be, for this was too uncanny to be anything but déjà vu.

It was fake. It had to be.

His entire second chance was nothing but a lie.

Believing this whole heartedly, Draco turned to go down the stairs and out the door, following the path that Snape had taken but twenty seconds ago. That was what he'd done before, after all.

But of course, the world had to come crashing down on him, for as he moved, a hand slapped across his chest and halted him in his tracks.

 _Wait._

 _No._

 _This is wrong._

 _This didn't happen before._

Draco's eyes trailed up the arm that had stopped him, sluggishly creeping up the clothed shoulder and bare neck until he stared at his aunt's set mouth and cocked eyebrow.

"Just one moment, Draco." As if on cue, the other Death Eaters circled around them so that there was no escape. "We have some things we'd like to discuss with you."

This…this was no dream. It wasn't imagined.

This. This was real.

Draco swallowed, fighting down a sense of panic that began to stew in his stomach. "Alright. What?"

Bellatrix paced slowly in front of him, wand twirling between her long, white fingers. Fingers that looked identical to his.

"Well, Draco," she began, eyes focused on the wood between her knuckles. "I must congratulate you on getting us into the castle. I have to say, I wasn't sure you could do it, but you proved me wrong, didn't you?"

Draco lifted his chin. _Stay strong, don't let them in, don't let them see you bleed._ "Thank you, Aunt Bella."

"Mmm." It hummed out from between her cracked lips. "Yes, good job…but Draco, I have a question for you."

Draco tried not to frown. "Yes?"

She turned on her heeled foot, eyes narrowed and snake-like beneath her mess of black. "Did you honestly think you could hide your true intentions from _me?"_

A cold spike of fear ripped through Draco's chest and he almost took a step back in disbelief. _N-no…NO. Sh-she can't have figured it out—_

"What are you talking about?"

Bellatrix's lips curled up in an inhuman snarl. "Don't play dumb, nephew! We know all about the Vanishing Cabinet!"

Draco's stomach mixed within itself, with fear and confusion and horror marinating within his very being. "The Vanishing Cabinet? What about it?"

The dark-haired woman growled, rolling her eyes. "You cannot be this stupid. Drakey, sweetie," she started, voice lifting in a sickeningly sweet way. "Vanishing Cabinets have twins. You understand?

"Well," she continued, eyes wide and lips disgustingly mocking him with a smile. "That means they're _connected._ Do you know what that means?"

She seemed to be expecting an actual answer, and so Draco nodded, trying to keep his teeth from grinding against each other in anger and rising terror. "Yes."

"So, Drakey," she continued, though her babying voice began to disappear into the air as her words permeated the atmosphere, "that means that whatever happens to _one_ cabinet—if it is substantially significant, at least—will happen to the other one."

It took a moment for the meaning to sink in to Draco's chest and when it did, he nearly staggered back from the extent of his foolishness. How had he not figured that out?! And now—

 _No—_

"When the cabinet in Borgin and Burkes inexplicably burst into flames and burned to the floor, we were baffled. 'What the hell was that about?', we'd asked ourselves." Bellatrix's stare almost made Draco fall apart right then and there, but somehow he stayed on his feet.

 _Stay strong, d-don't show anything, just stay—_

"It didn't take long to figure out it had been from your end," Bellatrix cooed, her wand tracing patterns in the air as her hand jerked and twisted in rising irritation. "That you had somehow lit your cabinet on fire. And at first, we suspected it was an accident.

"But then—" Bellatrix chuckled, her head shaking. "We waited. And waited. And _waited_ for a letter, some sort of explanation from you, some sort of note that described what had happened and why and how you were apologetic and would make up for it. Just _any_ sort of explanation."

She turned to smile coldly at Draco. "You already know that we never got any clarification."

The Slytherin took calming breaths, but they did little to ease him. "Aunt Bella, let me—"

" _Explain?!"_ She exploded, all cool lost. "There is nothing to explain! You got cold feet, you chickened out of your task! So you decided to burn the cabinet to the ground in hopes that you wouldn't have to face your mission anymore. If there was _any_ other explanation for its destruction, you would have sent a letter.

"But here we are," Bellatrix said lowly, eyes darting at the other Death Eaters quickly, "over two weeks later. No letter, no note. No explanation."

The words hissed from between her teeth and Draco already knew. He could already sense it, could already see it in her eyes.

"You got scared," she said lowly, arms twitching at her side. Insanely, with no control. "Today, you realized exactly what you did. You realized your mistake and you feared for your life. So you _finally_ sent a note and found another way in and prayed that it would be enough to save your cowardly ass."

Draco winced at her second to last word. _Too right._ "Aunt Bella, please—"

"Unfaithful," Bellatrix whispered, and Draco's insides froze at the way she said it. His heart began to speed, and he repeated the same froze over and over again in his mind.

 _Don't think about her, don't think about her, don't—_

"Unfaithful, you've been," the lunatic repeated. "You've been unfaithful."

Draco tried again. "Aunt Bella, you have to listen to me—"

" _NO!_ " she shrieked, eyes wild. "There is no room in the Dark Lord's army for disloyalty!"

She whirled to watch the other Death Eater's faces as she spoke, and they only looked back with cold indifference. Bellatrix finally faced her nephew again, a smile creeping across her face under those crazed, darkened eyes.

It stopped his heart.

"You've been unfaithful," she breathed out, voice cracking with impossibly lightless mirth, and her wand twitched by her side. "And for that…you're to be punished."

The words had hardly left Bellatrix's lips before her wand slashed through the air, slicing against the breeze and creating a whirring sound beside the wind and growing night and rising terror. But even as the terror expanded in Draco's chest and rose in his throat, he felt that he could hardly feel it.

For all he was aware of was the fresh and uneven rip in his stomach, pouring out red that slowly seeped into his white shirt and dripped down his front.

 _No—_

A gasp tore from his lungs as Draco dropped painfully to his knees, hands clutching desperately at his chest, and his wand plummeted to the ground beside him. The wound ached—God it _burned—_ and he could hardly even see, for the red was already fighting its way into his eyes.

The blood. There was so much of it, and it just kept soaking into his shirt and down onto the ground and across his legs. A puddle formed beneath him, and Draco had never known such mind-numbing terror at the realization that this was real, that this was no dream, that he was bleeding out all over the floor. Already his vision was fading and even though his fingernails were tearing desperately at his shirt and skin to try and free the wound, he couldn't even control them.

A shot of pure agony lanced from Draco's stomach up into his head and he couldn't even remain upright anymore. Falling completely to the floor, arms splayed to the side as the blood _just kept coming,_ Draco couldn't keep from whimpering, couldn't help squeezing his eyes shut to try to kill the pain.

The pain that would kill _him._

The thought struck a chord in his head, and his eyes opened if only minutely in recollection.

 _W-wait…._

Even his thoughts were dimming, becoming less discernible amongst the insanity that was gripping him.

But he could still process a few things. He heard his aunt screaming to the other Death Eaters to leave, stomping about as she ordered. And he saw their feet, their shoes—at an odd angle because of the way his neck was twisted on the floor of the astronomy tower, but they were retreating from the area nonetheless. And he could feel Bellatrix's laugh as it penetrated deep into his soul, feel it as she followed the others back into the castle and left him bleeding and alone. He could feel the vibrations of the door as it slammed shut behind her.

Yet maybe the clearest of anything, he could hear his thoughts, as clouded and fading as they were.

 _I am dying._ I _am dying._ I _am going to die. Me._ Me.

A tear leaked from the corner of Draco's eye, and despite the extra movement and pain it brought him, the boy smiled. With his blood streaming out of his stomach and chest, with an unfixable, unrepairable wound—one that was fatal beyond all hope—festering beneath his groping fingers, he smiled.

He smiled not in spite of the agony but because of it.

He was going to die.

Another tear rolled off Draco's face, but it was born not from the pain and it existed not for him.

He was going to die.

He closed his eyes, inviting the darkness at the edge of his vision to come closer, to claim him fully.

He was going to die.

There was no knowledge sweeter than this.

* * *

 **4302 words. WOW this is a long chapter! I expected 2000 max.**

 **5 more chapters after this one D: I will be really sad when this is over.**

 **Also**

 **NOOOO DRACO WHY?! WHYYYYYYYYY!**

 **Just…remember. 5 more chapters, folks. 5 more.**

 **OK please review! Next chapter is THE ONE I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR SINCE THE BEGINNING OF THIS STORY!**

 **So…REVIEW! REVIEW IF YOU WANT THE NEXT CHAPTER SOON!**

 **Love you lots!**

 **REVIEW GODAMIT**


	46. Shattered

**(Barely any author's note today because I don't want to ruin the mood)**

 **I reread all 45 chapters in preparation for writing this.**

 **Nervous about posting this chapter for a few reasons, let me know what you think about it.**

 **I won't be back until the 30th (summer camp), just a heads up.**

 **6444 words. Longest yet by far.**

 **A recommendation: listen to "A Thousand Years" by The Piano Guys ( _this version! not any other)_ when Draco's POV starts. Or anything similar.**

* * *

 _"_ _She_ _was his moon and stars, his sun and clouds. She was the happiness in his heart and the joy in his eyes. She was his entire world, his entire life."_

* * *

Distant, with growing desperation. As if a filter lay over his voice, as if it was shrouded despite the anxiety and fear that drove it to sound.

That was the first sense that came back to Hermione when she was revived: her hearing. Slowly at first, and in a corner of her mind, it made her think of being dragged painstakingly from the deepest black of the ocean. Of drifting, of lying suspended. No sound, no hope. Slowly, so slowly.

" _Hermione!"_

Her name was muffled. She fought against the tug of consciousness. She wanted nothing to do with it.

 _"_ _Hermione, please!"_

There was so much desperation in the way her name reverberated around her skull that it made the girl confused. What was so important that she needed to be interrupted, needed to be forced into the real world? Hermione didn't care; even in her half-asleep state, she realized it could be nothing good.

" _Hermione, get up!"_

That was when her sight finally had had enough and faded back into utilization. Black—seemingly unending black—resorted finally to a blinding and confusing sort of white. Hermione blinked her eyes open, squinting at the orange light that floated around her.

 _What the hell…?_

She lay in a deserted hallway, empty silence closing in slowly. Harry Potter squatted by her side, hands on her shoulders and relief in his eyes that she had finally responded to his _Rennervate._ But he was frantic and impatient, hurrying her already.

And then, like a dagger to her chest, it all came back.

Harry and Dumbledore leaving the castle. Waiting, in pain, betrayal. Fighting and then being pulled away by _him._ Yelling, screaming. Anger. Pain. A kiss, and then a spell. Then nothing.

The girl gasped, shooting upright and gazing fearfully into the boy's eyes. "Harry! Harry, a-are you alright?"

He nodded, trying to tug her to her feet. "Yes, Hermione, I'm fine, b-but—"

He looked behind him at the sound of running feet and crazed laughter, cursing as he realized who was approaching. Harry grabbed Hermione and threw her behind a pillar, shushing her as he hid, flat against the stone and peeking out from behind it to try and view the corridor.

Moments later, seven people, all dressed in black, strode past quickly. Bellatrix Lestrange brought up the rear, giggling in crazed joy as she yelled to her fellow Death Eaters to "hurry up and catch up with Severus." They stalked with a purpose, chins high as they sauntered, wands out. The woman was the only who differed, running about as she cackled loudly.

Finally, they turned around a corner and Harry let out a breath. He faced Hermione again, pulling at her arm and staggering back into the hallway.

"Hermione, we don't have a lot of time. It was Snape, it was _all_ Snape. He killed Dumbledore, without even a hint of remorse! We have to hurry, have to catch him before he leaves the school."

Hermione gasped, but the shock of the news hardly registered in her mind over a singular glaring issue. The Death Eaters who'd just marched past…there was only seven of them. There should have been eight.

"Harry, did anyone go with Snape when he ran?"

The boy seemed caught off guard at the question. "N-no? Look Hermione, we have to go now—"

"Where's Draco?" She stood staring at him, brown eyes wide as horror slowly filled her up, spreading from her chest outwards until she could feel nothing but overwhelming fear. "Harry—Harry, where's Draco?"

"Malfoy?" He stared at her as if she was insane. "Hermione, I don't know where Malfoy is. He was with Snape when the bastard _killed Dumbledore,_ but he didn't follow him—And it _doesn't matter!_ Come on, we have to get Snape!"

Harry turned and began running down the hallway after the Death Eaters, cloak billowing out after him as his anger and hatred for the Potions master permeated out behind him. He paused at the corner before going down the next corridor, however, for he was suddenly aware that his was the only set of footsteps beating at his ear drums.

The Chosen One looked back to see his best friend just standing where he'd left her. Silent, stricken with realization. Apology written all over her features.

Then she took off running, away from Harry and towards the astronomy tower.

Hermione could hear his yowl of shock as she sprinted from him, but she couldn't be bothered to turn around and face the black-haired boy. Not when so much trepidation filled her very core, when she had that feeling in her chest, a feeling that things had gone so badly. He was alone, and that could never be good.

 _Please God, PLEASE tell me I'm wrong. Please let him be okay—_

Feet pounding against the stone floors as her breathing beat against her ribcage and dread ate away at her sanity. Her limbs were almost numb from anticipation and she wished so badly that _for once in her life,_ she would be wrong, she _had_ to be wrong because if she wasn't….

She swallowed and shook her head as she shot around a final corner and faced the stretch of hallway that led up to the astronomy tower entrance. No, no, she couldn't think like that. She could never think like that.

Harry finally caught up to her right as she reached the door. His hand shot out from beneath his robes, catching her left wrist as he panted, his bewilderment screaming at her from the way he dug his fingernails into her arm. Tan fingers, pressing her charm bracelet into her flesh.

God, she was growing desperate.

"Hermione, what are you doing?!" he questioned, rising agitation and bafflement biting at her heels. "We have to go, we have to go get Snape!"

She tugged her arm, breath coming too fast to even attempt a response. No, this was all wrong, all wrong. She needed to get free, needed to check, but she couldn't when he was attached to her bloody arm—

 _No no, no no, Harry please—_

"What are you doing?" the boy breathed, pulling her roughly away from the door. "Hermione _come on,_ we don't have time for this!"

She couldn't meet his gaze for fear that she would break apart right there. "I have to go," she managed, doubting he could even understand her. "I-I h-have to get—"

"This is the wrong way! Snape—the man who killed our headmaster—is probably already on ground level at this point!"

Hermione continued to tug at her arm, trying so desperately to break away, but hysteria clouded her judgement and wouldn't let her realize that she was hardly making any progress.

"H-Harry, please," she stammered. "Please l-let me go, I…I have to…."

"We have to get out of here! We are running out of time!"

"No," she whispered. Never looking into his eyes. "No, no, I have to—h-have to see Draco."

"What?" Confusion, perplexity. "Wha—Malfoy? What are you—Hermione, he doesn't matter! Let's go!"

But she was still shaking her head, still attempting to fight him off, though her efforts were quickly becoming more crazed and desperate. "No, you don't understand, I _h-have_ to make sure."

"We _have_ to catch Snape before he gets away!"

Her chest was moving so fast that it was a surprise that the girl wasn't seeing spots. "Harry, I need to get to him, I need to, I need t-to get to Draco. Please, just let go of—"

The boy's face suddenly grew angry and he pulled her away from the door, tugging her roughly even as she fought him and reached for the handle desperately. "Hermione, what the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

 _No! No, no!_ She whimpered as she tried valiantly to get back to the door, but he was dragging her away now. She-she c-couldn't handle this—him—for much longer.

"Why is he somehow more important than catching Dumbledore's slaughterer?"

Harry was confused, unwilling to listen, to see, and Hermione began to panic. This was all wrong, this was all wrong—

 _Stop! STOP!_ The door—it was so far, and only growing further apart from her as Harry _still_ wasn't letting up on her arm. She whimpered, desperation and hysteria driving up her throat.

"And why in Merlin's name are you calling him ' _Draco_ '?"

Hermione snapped. "Harry Potter, you let go of me this instant!"

She screamed the words, scratching at the back of his hand on her left wrist, drawing blood within moments and not even feeling guilty as he let out an _ahh_ of pain. Finally— _finally—_ he released her, and that was all that she could focus on.

She was almost twitching. "Don't you dare, Harry Potter! Don't you _dare_ keep me away! I'm done with bending to yours and Ron's wills! I'm _done!_ Don't you _dare_ force me away!"

But now he was staring at her in incredulity, bafflement, as if she was a monster, as if he didn't even know her. His eyes were screwed up beneath those uneven glasses, brow knit and a dull sense of hurt flickering through his green orbs.

Silence, peppered with Hermione's manic gasps for breath, stretched between them as he just stared in astonishment, disbelief, for this _couldn't_ be his best friend of six years standing before him. She was crazed, quivering, itching to flee from him.

"Hermione, what's _wrong_ with you?!" he managed, head shaking slightly.

Hermione swallowed, backing away from him. "Harry, I…I'm s-sorry. Please believe me."

Quiet. Repeated. "What's wrong with you?"

She felt that she couldn't look into his eyes, and yet she did so anyways. Entranced, not looking away as she answered. "I….I can't explain it." Panic rising within her chest. He was so close, _so close,_ but she was still here. "Harry, I have to go. Please, please, just—"

But he was hardly listening anymore, instead backing away from her, amazement in his eyes that she was saying these things to him. "What's happened to you? Why are you…?"

Hermione reached the door to the astronomy tower. "I can't let you stop me," she said, voice shaking in apprehension. "I'm sorry and I _swear_ I'll explain it all to you l-later"—her voice cracked on the word—"but you can't keep me from him right now."

Harry's eyes were wide in horror. " _Him?_ This is about _Malfoy?"_ He was so baffled, so confused, so incredulous about it all that Hermione doubted he even knew what she was talking about. He probably thought she'd lost her mind.

But she looked him dead in the eyes anyways. "Yes. It's about Draco."

"I can't…I don't follow." He glanced to his bleeding hand again, eyes slowly making their way up to hers. Hurt, betrayed. "What…what has he done to you?"

Hermione couldn't stand here, couldn't keep this up. Not when he was just behind a door and up a flight of steps. Her limbs were filled to the brim with adrenaline and they would burst within moments if she didn't finally satisfy them.

But she would say one last thing to Harry.

"I don't know," she admitted, head high and eyes alit. "I don't. But Harry, I'd go through it all again in a heartbeat."

With her final words still ringing throughout the corridor and in Harry's head alike, Hermione opened the door, slamming it behind her before she ran up the stairs.

Not looking back.

. . . ….. . . .

Darkness, everywhere. As the blood seeped from his stomach, slowly reaching its maroon arm across the floor of the astronomy tower, Draco realized that he was unsure whether or not his eyes were even open.

Darkness, circling in towards the center of his vision. Painfully slowly. Black, merciless black, claiming his eyes and holding them in its hand.

Draco's breathing had all but stopped. He could manage a raspy inhale every twenty seconds or so, but it was only met with excruciating pain from his stomach and more spilt blood. His wound throbbed—throbbed against his skin and his inners and onto the floor. It throbbed in time with his heart, the heart that up until a few months previous, he wasn't sure he'd had.

But he did have one.

And soon, it would beat no longer. Against the rough floor, the throbbing of his heart and blood slowed, slowed so dramatically that he was sure he had no more than five minutes.

Draco smiled. Only five more minutes. Five more minutes, and then he would be dead. He would be dead and she would be _alive_ and everything would be perfect. Everything would be _flawless._ Without him there, the world would be better.

Because at least it would have her.

His time was almost up. His clock had almost broken, had almost ceased its ticking. It seemed to be slowing, almost, as odd as it sounded, but that was fine. It would stop eventually, no matter how long it would take.

For the grotesque rip in Draco's stomach and chest was so horrible that no one could fix it. This should have been bad, but it only kept the sad smile on Draco's face. He was going to die. And that was amazing.

Draco had succeeded in his true mission that year: to be killed. If he died, that meant that she wouldn't, and he would do anything for her. She was his moon and stars, his sun and clouds. She was the happiness in his heart and the joy in his eyes. She was his entire world, his entire life. Without her—without his life—there was no way that he could carry on.

He would be giving her life by dying. And there was a certain peace in the fact that as long as she lived on, so would he. For she was his life, and his life would burn on through her.

He swallowed, ignoring the agony that shot through him. Yes, he would live on. But only through her, and only through his death.

For her, he would die a million times over, and a million times worse than this.

 _Anything. Anything for her._

She was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he would _not_ let her die, not because of him and not because of his selfish ways. He couldn't let that happen.

Death. The most wonderful thing he had ever known.

Four minutes.

The sound of a door slamming rang distantly in his ears, but he could hardly process this. His mind was losing oxygen and his thoughts were jumbled, just a mess of ironic joy and throbbing agony.

A gasp, closer to him.

Draco knew that his eyes had to have been closed, for suddenly they were open. A warm body rushed to his side and through the darkness of his life broke the sweetest light he ever could have imagined, staring down at him with tears brimming in her eyes.

Hermione. She was here, she had found him, and _God_ she looked so radiant, so beautiful.

Her hands shook above him as she took in his condition, head shaking slowly at first but faster as the seconds wore on. Tears, streaming from those amazing brown eyes, and Draco vaguely wondered when they had begun to cascade down that porcelain skin. How he wished he could reach up and brush them from her cheeks, but even the slightest of movements forced torture up into his skull.

"No," Hermione whispered, voice tearing with emotion. "No, no no no—no no no no no _NO!"_

She let out a sob, a cry that wrenched from her chest and hit Draco right in his heart. Her hair draped over his body as she cowered over him, fingers at her face as she fought to hold back the feelings and distraught tears of salt that fell off her lashes.

"No, no no _no!_ I…I can…." Hermione looked up from her hands, turning desperately to stare down at Draco's torso. Without thinking, she reached out and ripped at his shirt, forcing off his black cloak and tearing apart the fabric of the button down white shirt in mad panic.

He held back a grunt as her movements only worsened the pain, but somehow it wasn't as bad as usual. Maybe it was because she was doing it, and nothing she could do was ever that bad, or maybe because his time was running out.

Three minutes.

Hermione's hands quivered over his wound, and her mouth fell open slightly as another sob left her. He wouldn't look down at himself, only at her, but he knew from her expression that his assumptions were correct.

"It—" She cut herself off as her head shook and her lips bit at each other. The laceration was _huge,_ running from beneath his heart all the way to his right hip bone. Black, deep, so deep that she could almost see some of his organs.

"It's c-cursed," Hermione choked out, swallowing as her eyes flicked in desperation, trying so vainly to find a string of hope to cling to. "I-I can't _fix it!"_ she moaned, another sob threatening at her throat. "It…it can't be cured…."

Draco smiled, something like relief filling him. He was doomed. He was dead.

Thank God.

Despite the pain that screamed at his mind and ripped at his insides, Draco reached up and took her hand in his. He could feel so much of his blood rubbing off from his fingers onto hers, could already see the blacks and reds of his wound mixing with the white of her skin. Maybe he'd always be a part of her. Maybe she'd always feel him.

He smiled at her, tears in his eyes. But he would be strong in these last moments, and not yet would he let them fall.

No. He just smiled at the gorgeous woman beside him and took in a shaky breath, heart slowing substantially as he did so. "It's okay." Laced with blood, boils and bubbles of it. "It-it's okay, Hermione. R…really, i-it is."

The girl clung to his fingers and shook her head, water dripping from her chin and falling onto the bare skin of his chest. It comforted him, eased his pain, almost. Her tears and his skin, and the comfort of her being here in his final moments.

Hermione took his upper body in her lap, hands clutching at his shoulder and shaking against his face as they clung to the fading pieces of him. She was trying so hard to stay strong, to keep her tears from falling, but it was too useless now.

"Don't…" She swallowed, head shaking. "Don't talk like that, Draco. Everything will be fine, it _has_ to be fine, please please please _please!"_

It tore him apart to see her so distraught. "Hermione, I d-did it for you. I did it to _s-save_ you…."

"Don't talk," she whispered, hands rubbing comfortingly against his skin. "Please, don't talk. You need to conserve your energy, you need to stay strong."

He just smiled sadly. "I can't."

Two minutes.

The wind blew softly against their bodies as she sobbed, leaning over him and pressing her face against his neck. Tears, hot and fast, flowing down his neck and he sighed, content with everything but her pain.

"You have to make it. You _have_ to." Words, pleading, yet with an underlying hopelessness to it all. "You're going to be okay."

Draco reached up and cupped her cheek, forcing the pain from his eyes as he stared into her captivating ones. "I'm not going to be okay, Hermione. I'm done for. But…but it's worth it…." He swallowed, willing the water at his vision away. "It's worth it…to see you one last time."

The girl lost it, hugging his body to hers and pleading, _begging_ for him to be wrong, to stop lying to her. That he would be fine. That this was a dream, that everything was fine. Her fingers ran through his hair, so soft, so perfect, and he closed his eyes to the feeling, cherishing it and holding it in his heart as it began to crack beneath the pressure of beating and feeling and continuing on, for as little time left that it had to do so.

One minute.

Hermione looked into his eyes, orbs filled with only heartbreak and sorrow. Tears, tears for him, and overwhelming agony.

But suddenly, it was like a switch flicked in her mind. Realization filled her up and her mouth opened slightly as hope entered her gaze. She was thinking, thinking much too fast, for Draco was deteriorating quickly and had less than sixty seconds—he knew—before it was all over.

He could hardly see or even understand the look in her eyes, but it was one of conviction, of determination, of sadness. Hermione looked behind her, at the door, before her eyes slowly met his once again, and racing as fast as her mind surely was.

But then she moved. Sure of herself, sure of her abilities, sure of her feelings for the boy lying nearly dead in her lap.

Draco's vision was as good as gone, but he saw Hermione as she leaned over him, drawing his lips to hers. He kissed her slowly, eyes closing against the feeling of her fingers on the skin of his cheeks and he willed his numb limbs to fall weightlessly at her waist.

He could taste the salt of her tears, the sorrow and horror in her lips and the way she kissed him. Her skin was so familiar against his and Draco wished so desperately that they had had more time. More time to live, to know her, to grow with her and see what a life they could build.

For this would have lasted, he knew that. He knew it deep within him, and he knew she felt the same.

But _he_ wouldn't last much longer, and though it was heart wrenching, Draco was filled with overpowering relief that _finally_ he had done something right.

He'd saved her.

Hermione's lips fell off of his and her closed eyes quivered slightly as he took her in. He lay in her lap, seconds from death, and was content to just stare at her beautiful face.

Then her eyes opened and stared into his, and he thought he saw…guilt? An apology?

 _Wha…?_

She leaned closer to him, her mouth breathing so sweetly against his ear. "Forgive me."

Draco would've been more confused and alarmed if he was more conscious.

But Hermione's forehead was against his, nose resting against his own as well, and he looked at her with dull confusion. She gazed back at him for a moment before closing her own eyes, pain and apprehension visible. A few more tears leaking out.

She moved against him and Draco had to strain to see why. Hermione had grabbed her wand and was holding it between their chests, chests that were moving in time with each other.

The girl swallowed again, and Draco distantly realized that she was shaking worse than ever.

" _Revocatas Dolorum."_

At first, nothing seemed to have changed. The two teens remained on the floor of the astronomy tower, pressed together and aching as one. Blood continued to seep from Draco and onto the floor and the girl, staining her skin red, and his lips twitched upwards as he took her in.

His minute was up.

But then, suddenly…something was different. Slowly, so slowly that it was hardly noticeable at first, the pain began to dull. It was fading, and even the prospect of such a thing was enough for Draco to doubt his body's sanity anymore. Yet the seconds built up and he found that somehow— _somehow_ —his crazed assumption had been correct. The agony, the hurt, the pain: they fluttered out from Draco's body in a pulling sensation, tugging from his chest and stomach and reaching upwards. His skin stretched or filled in or seeped together or _something—_ Draco had no idea what—but it was as if the pain was just lifting from his very being. The darkness that had filled his eyes began to seep into nonexistence, fading out and giving sight to his silver depths once more so that they could focus and see well yet again.

And after that singular minute, it was as if Draco had never been wounded at all.

He blinked, shocked as he sat up slowly from the girl's lap. He looked down at his bare chest, a breath falling from his lower lip in incredulity as he realized that not a single blemish was across his perfect skin. Smooth, white, pale, and without even a trace or hint of pain. The wound was just… _gone._

And he felt fine. He felt amazing. The agony he'd just endured…it was as if it had never even existed.

Draco just stared down at himself, a single exhale of amazement breaking free from his throat. It was unreal, _so unreal,_ for Dumbledore had said the chances of them both making it out alive had been infinitesimal.

Yet here they were, proving him wrong.

But things could never be good. Things could never be perfect, and that had been clear ever since the moment Draco had taken Dumbledore's hand. Things had been set in motion far too long ago, and there was nothing anyone could do for it now.

Because as Draco turned to the girl who had _saved his life,_ who had given him everything, the joyed and awed expression began to melt from his face. She looked back at him, face unnaturally pale, eyes scared and welling up, hands shaking slightly as they moved to the sides of her stomach.

For a dark red stain was creeping through the fabric of her shirt in the exact same place that Draco himself had been wounded.

Two sets of eyes looked down at her torso slowly and in unison as the blood spread sluggishly, and it was as if time itself had stopped. Draco's breathing ceased, his heart stilled, for none of this was making any sense to his newly healed mind, and it processed the severity of what was happening in slow motion.

And then the horror and realization of the situation all came crashing down.

 _No…._

Hermione let out an inaudible gasp, and Draco reached forward and caught her before she slumped to the floor. It happened slowly, so slowly, for the world had stopped and time had stopped and Draco's mind was filled with horror and denial and utter terror.

 _No, no, no no no…._

He peered down at her, eyes wide and horror-stricken, unbelieving and huge and staring and…and….

"No," he gasped, looking down at her body in his arms, so small, so fragile. "No, no, _no…."_

What…what was going _on?!_

Draco's mind raced, and he felt that this was a lie, that this _had_ to be a lie! He looked into her eyes, eyes that had renewed their tears and were staring back at him, filled with so much. Salt streaked down her cheeks and he could see—he could _see—_ the struggle that it was for her to keep her eyes focused on his.

The whole world came crashing down, right on Draco's head.

 _NOO! No no no…NO NO NO NO—_

Blood spilled from Hermione stomach, dripping from her drenched shirt and seeping onto Draco's pants and bare chest. Hysterical, he ripped at her shirt—so similarly to how she had acted with him—and was struck numb to see that his wound— _his wound—_ was on her stomach. It seemed to be growing, and Hermione only whimpered in pain as more blood drowned out her skin.

Puddling on the floor, just as Draco's eyes flew back to hers in utter despair and denial.

Yet through the pain and widening wound on her small body, Hermione looked into his eyes and smiled. "S…switching spell," she managed after swallowing, a tear gliding down her cheek silently. "I t…tried explaining this kind to…to you, but…."

She broke off, coughing slightly and wincing at the pain it brought her. Draco couldn't say anything, just gaped down at her with horror in his eyes, brokenness and sorrow.

She continued after a moment, eyes trying to find a spark of light as her lips turned upwards once more. "That's…twice now th-that I've saved your life…if you don't count V-valentine's. Once at…at the beginning of the year. A-and now…." She let out a weak laugh, a laugh that weakened even as it drew out. "Are you going to thank me this time?"

Draco's world was ending, was shattering into a million pieces. This could not, could not, could NOT be real, not after he'd switched his mind and done this all for _her._ He was frantic, was panicked, and his hands gripped at her body desperately.

"No, no no no no no no _NO!"_ he cried, cradling her to him, as close as he could possibly manage. "No, no, _please_ God _no!"_

She stared up, eyes unfocused, face breaking in his hands.

He just cowered, just wept, the tears finally coming. "Please," he pled, "please no. You _can't_ die. You…you _can't!_ Not because of me. Please, _please_ don't leave me!"

His tears streamed down his face, falling off his jawline and onto her cheeks. She just reached up weakly and wiped them away from below his eyes.

Why had she done it? How _could she?!_ How could she do it?

After all the pain he'd put her through. All the hardships, all the conflicts, all the wrongs he'd set on her. How could she do this for him…after all that?

Dumbledore had been right.

Draco sobbed, pulling her closer to him and crying into her hair. "This…this is all my fault," he whimpered, clutching at her desperately. Her blood, the red of her sacrifice and his pain, ran down his bare chest. "This is _all_ my fault. I did this to you. _I_ did this. It's…it's all my fault."

The breeze was silent, but it played with their hair as she slowly faded away in his arms. Faded away, drifting away on the wind. Her eyelids struggled to stay open, struggled to keep her attention on him, and he just shook his head.

"Forgive me," he whispered, holding her to him as he rocked back and forth. "Forgive me. I couldn't save you. I…I…I couldn't _save you."_

Hermione's eyes, as unfocused as they were, remained on him. Clouded in pain. "No."

The word was weak, so weak that Draco couldn't help but dip his head over her chest and screw his eyes shut to keep the pain from tearing him apart right there.

"No," she repeated, hand at his jaw, softly tracing over his skin. "No, Draco, you're wr-wrong. I did this to myself. My choice. _My_ choice."

He looked to her, eyes wet and bright and ripped apart. As steadily as she could manage, she stared back.

And smiled, once more.

"And I'd do it again," Hermione whispered, hair blowing over her face as the wind mourned for her and the sun bowed closer to the skyline in grief. "I'd do it a thousand times for you. Because…because you're…you're everything to me. Without you…."

She grimaced slightly and swallowed, face tensing in pain. But she finished her sentence anyways.

"Without you, I…I couldn't carry on."

Draco cracked; he couldn't take it anymore.

" _HELP!"_ The words tore from his throat, shrieking against the impending darkness of the night and the girl's failing body. " _Help her!_ Someone, anyone, please, _please_ save her! _Help!"_

The words rang around the tower, bouncing back into his brain and mixing up with the hysteria that lived in his mind and heart. He n-needed to—to help her, to find Madam Pomfrey or anyone—

He couldn't just let this _happen._

Hermione sought out his eyes once more, reaching up with limp fingers and touching his cheek weakly. "It's okay, Draco. Just…just remember…." She swallowed, eyes tracing over his face intimately and with so much longing in them. "I'm always on your side, Draco. Always. I'm sorry for everything. Please…please just remember that."

Draco sobbed, gently holding the hand that rested on his face and moving it to his bare chest, right above his heart. Hermione blinked slowly, forcing her eyes open, wincing at the pain that shot up into her brain but living through it to watch him as he stared back down at her with eyes that were so full.

"You're on my side," he whispered, nodding and resting his forehead against hers. "I know. I…I…." He swallowed.

"Hermione, you own this," he said lowly, pressing her fingers against his chest again, urging her to feel his unsteady and broken heartbeat. "You own my heart. And…and you saved it. You saved _me._ I'm yours, completely. I am who I am…because of you. And I thought I was saving you, but…."

He sobbed, head shaking against hers. "Hermione, don't leave me. Please, please. Don't leave me. I need you. _I need you."_

His words begged her to stay, but even he knew that it was useless. She was losing strength and as desperate as he was, there was…there was nothing to do.

Silver eyes, heartbroken and crying.

How foolish he had been! How selfish, how uncaring! He had killed her. _He_ had killed her. She was here, lying in his lap and dying, all because he had been too cowardly to face what he should have the first time.

And he had sentenced her to death.

His fingers traced over her skin, gripping at the warmth of it. Salt slid down his skin.

A tear ran down Hermione's jaw as she touched his face again and smiled. The tear ran down her neck. It mingled on the skin of Draco's chest.

She moved, then, pain filling up every crevice and plain of her face as her right hand crawled into her robe pocket. It resurfaced, shaking and enclosed around an object, though Draco could not see what it was. Her hand continued on its path, working towards her left wrist and fumbling blindly at something beneath the sleeve of her cloak. But then something clicked, and her right hand closed around another item.

"I won't leave you," she whispered, sad happiness for the boy in her voice.

Hermione placed the items in Draco's hand. A mixture of her own blood and his mingled on the surface of the two, and Draco let out a breath at the sight of them.

A small green emerald with a snake engraved on it and a charm bracelet with two charms. His two gifts.

"I won't leave you," she whispered again as she curled Draco's fingers around the two items, the presents that had meant the world to the both of them. "I'll always be with you."

She looked into his tear-filled eyes and her own gazed back, so wide and so desperate for him to understand. She took his face in her hands, despite all the energy it sapped, and he could feel her shaking against him.

Almost gone.

But she had to say it. She needed him to know it.

"I'll always…I'll always be with you. Because…because I love you, Draco Malfoy. I love you, I love you and…that means that I'd rather die for you than…than live in a w-world…a world without you. I…I love you. I love you…."

After all he'd done. After he'd betrayed her. After years of torment…somehow, she…she still loved him.

She loved _him._

Her words were so weak and her eyes so full yet fading that Draco couldn't help it. He sobbed again, breaking down right between her fingers, and he pulled the body of the girl to him, closer than imaginable. He kissed her, kissed her lips as they sighed, and a breath left them slowly. Draco poured everything into it, everything that he was, for he knew it would be their last one. But somehow it was the best yet. The last one, the last one, the last time he'd feel her lips on his.

He pulled back, eyes screwed shut in pain. His own tears against her skin.

"I love you, Hermione Granger," he said, a whisper mixed with a sob. "I love you, more than you will ever know. I love you."

But the girl—the limp girl in his arms—never heard his words. Her eyes stared at him, but there was no depth. Empty, soulless.

Dead.

 _Dead._

She was…gone.

And the fact that she never heard him say the words, never saw the undying love shimmering in his eyes, never felt his feelings as they fell from his mouth onto her skin was what killed Draco the most in that moment.

With her body in his arms, but not her soul, Draco let out a wail, a scream of loss, a shriek of pain and agony and denial and guilt and overwhelming love. The love she would never hear. The love she would never know. It sounded out, over the castle and over the grounds and reverberating around his skull and heart.

His throat was raw, yet he still talked to her as her body continued to bleed against him and her eyes continued to stare. "I'm sorry," he sobbed, clutching her limp form to his own red streaked one. "I'm so, so sorry. P-please, please… _please_ know that I love you. I love you, I love you. Please…please… _please,_ Hermione, _please._ Please…hear me…."

And he stayed there on the floor, crying over her dead body.

Wishing that her arms, which hung at her side, would wrap around him one more time, would hug him against her heat and make him feel needed, feel alive.

Wishing that her brown eyes, which he couldn't bear to close even as they stared at him, blank and empty and _dead,_ would gaze into his own like they had before.

Wishing that her lips, still wet from the mixture of Draco's tears and her own, would kiss him once again, would stir in him feelings he had never known before.

But he knew it was over. She would never hug him, look at him, _kiss_ him again.

She was gone. She was dead. It was his fault.

Hermione would never hear his words, would never know how he felt. She would never know that he loved her. She would never hear him tell her.

And knowing this, sitting up on the astronomy tower with the body of his love cradled in his arms, Draco Malfoy's heart shattered completely.


	47. A Hell Deserved

**Be sure to read the author's note at the end of the chapter! It's important!**

 **You must believe that I love you all. Truly, I do. This has been the plan since before chapter 1 was written.**

 **There are a total of 50 chapters, so the story isn't over yet. Do not fret.**

 **But I won't lead you on: Hermione isn't coming back to life. The plot can't allow it.**

 **I will tell you this, though: in my mind, there is a happy ending. "Bittersweet" describes it quite well, but I—personally—love how the story ends.**

 **Even so, read on. And as always, enjoy.**

* * *

The sun had long since fallen. Shrouded in darkness, the night sky hung on the air silently. Waiting. Watching.

Watching the boy who sat on the astronomy tower, draped in agony and brokenness and the body of a brunette girl.

It must have been hours, or maybe thirty minutes, or possibly five years. To the boy, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, for the sole purpose he was alive anymore no longer was.

Hot tears ran down his face, creating tracks like grooved mud across his cheeks from the many repetitions of such acts. A pale face coupled with red streaks. Blurred and shattered eyes popping out from blotchy skin and a distraught, distorted expression. Like crumpled parchment, like crumpled features.

Broken.

He clutched at the girl's body, desperately refusing that she was gone, that she was dead. There was heat to her skin—no matter that it was from his own, radiating out from him and sticking to her bloody limbs—so she _must_ be alive. She _had_ to be.

Yet she continued to lay in his arms. Limp. _Cold._

And she lay limp and cold because of him. Because he'd been a coward. Because he'd killed her. Because he'd forced her into it.

He'd killed her.

More tears, and a choked sob escaped from behind shaking teeth. Water hung at his eyelashes. He was acutely aware of the way his face contorted unnaturally in pure misery, pure sorrow, and he wished so desperately that somehow it would amount to something.

But nothing…nothing could bring her back.

The blond's head bowed over the body again, eyes screwed shut as a twisted breath broke free from his throat. A drop of salt fell from his lashes. It landed on the right brow of the girl, above open and soulless brown orbs.

A cold breeze swept through the tower, and though the boy didn't wear a shirt, for it lay ripped and discarded a few feet away, he couldn't bring himself to care enough to do anything about it. He deserved such discomfort. Any despicable person deserved the same.

He wanted to be dead. He wanted her to be alive. He wanted to switch, wanted to switch places _so badly…_ but there was nothing to do for it.

She'd already switched them.

The boy placed his ripped shirt over the girl's torso, for he couldn't bear to look at her grotesquely mutilated abdomen any longer. Had she been closing her eyes, he would have believed her to be asleep. Aside from the horrid wound that continued to poor out red and black and damnation, it would have been convincing.

His head dipped over her hair, and his tears soaked her crown with self-loathing and a love she would never understand. His forehead rested on her head, for the boy was desperate for any contact he could keep for as long as possible. Before she was taken from him. Before she was truly gone.

So immersed in his own pain was he that the boy hardly flinched when the door to the astronomy tower slammed open. Distantly, he wished that it was Bellatrix, here to finish him off. To end his misery, to beat him down and leave him dead beside the body of the girl who had already paid for his mistakes.

But as the sound of two identical gasps of horror filled the open space, he knew it wasn't his aunt. No, it was much worse than that.

But he just pressed the body in his arms closer to his bare chest, refusing to give her up and refusing to let them take her from him. Not now, not ever.

Finally, he looked up at the two people he had loathed more than any others for the past six years of his life. The two Gryffindors whom he'd despised, whom he'd hated, whom he'd envied. Because they'd known her, and because they could be open about it.

Potter and Weasley just looked down at him, mouths agape and eyes filled with horror as they took in the scene splayed out in front of them.

But then the Weasel took a step forward, eyes already clouding up with fear and anger and incredulity.

"Malfoy," he growled out, voice low and weak. "Malfoy, you let Hermione go."

Draco didn't respond. He just looked down at the girl's face, a sob rising in his throat again as he stroked her frozen cheek. There was no response to his touch.

The Weasel persisted, tones growing in volume as the words tumbled from his mouth. "Malfoy, let go of her. Let go of Hermione!"

His voice cracked on her name, and something about the fact made Draco glare up at him. The boy who had destroyed Hermione, who had watched her break with hardly a shrug of his shoulders. Here, finally showing that he even gave a damn. As if he had the right to.

But he couldn't keep glaring for more than five seconds, for he knew it wasn't what she'd have wanted. Weasley was one of her best friends, and she'd loved him despite the way he'd treated her. She'd always tried to get Draco to see that he wasn't so bad, but still he refused to see it. And in his mind, he was correct.

Hermione had been too good, too forgiving. Too loving. Too kind.

And it just kept eating away at Draco's heart, breaking him down bit by bit until there was nothing left but a quivering puddle of misery.

Weasley's face fell further into denial and disbelief as he took in Draco's expression of defeat, an expression devoid of fight or hope. An expression that was broken beyond repair. An expression that the Slytherin never wore.

"Malfoy," the redhead forced out, voice shaking palpably now. "M-malfoy, let her go. Let Hermione go. Let her _go!"_

Draco swallowed, head shaking slowly. "Don't you get it?" he spat, but it lacked venom; the words were a hollow shell, bleak and empty. "She…she's gone."

The Slytherin didn't dare watch the other boy as he gasped and staggered back several feet. He could imagine the pain in his eyes, the denial, the utter shock that this had happened so suddenly. Draco himself could barely fathom it.

" _Liar!"_ Weasley shouted, pain evident in his voice. "Malfoy, you conniving son of a bitch, what have you done? Wh-what's wrong with Hermione? Don't you dare lie to me!"

He wouldn't believe him. "Hermione's dead."

His silver eyes flicked to the other boys.

They looked back, staring at the shirtless blond who clutched at their best friend, holding her limp and unresponsive body in his arms. Blood soaked his pants, soaked his chest, mixed within his hair. And underneath his fingers, Hermione lay cold, eyes staring at the ceiling above a neck that twisted uncomfortably against the forearm of the boy they'd hated since the first day of Hogwarts. Brown orbs. Brown orbs that were wholly empty.

Draco swallowed. "She's gone, Weasley," he whispered, all hatred drained from his voice. "She's gone. I tried, I swear I did, but…."

Draco looked down, eyes welling up yet again as he hugged Hermione closer to him. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed to the girl, no longer even acknowledging her friends by the door. "So sorry…."

"No," Weasley breathed out, head shaking. Chest beginning to heave as reality set in, though he denied its existence. "No, no…."

And then suddenly he was furious. With eyes almost as red as his hair, he rushed at Draco, pulling him to his feet roughly even as he held onto Hermione's body. A twinge pierced his heart.

He turned to face the boy, fearless because there was nothing Weasley could do to him that he wouldn't welcome. The redhead was not deterred by Draco's lack of fear if he noticed it. He just stared him down, wand shaking in his hand by his side in fury and heartbreak.

"You…." Weasley's voice cracked, whether it was from denial or horror, terror or trepidation, perhaps fear or abhorrence. "You…you killed her!"

Draco stood facing him, Adam's apple bouncing as he swallowed a surge of emotion. He simply watched the boy, unable to feel sympathy for him as his face crumpled, for the Slytherin himself was too immersed in his own pain.

"You _killed her!"_ the Weasel screamed again, twin tears ripping tracks down his face. His entire body shook, eyes wide and horror-stricken, full to the brim with loss and grief and hatred. "You _monster!_ You did this! I'll _kill you!"_

The words were a shriek against the black of night, but Draco only closed his eyes tightly. Sensing that this would not end well, he turned around and gently placed Hermione on the ground, taking care that his shirt still rested across her stomach.

Sleeping. As good as it.

Draco turned back towards the quaking Gryffindor boy, mouth trembling and silver eyes bathed in desolation. He didn't defend himself. He didn't try to explain his position, didn't attempt to plead not guilty.

He did none of this. Instead, the Slytherin boy stared back at the redhead, as desolate as his expression was. And he held his arms out, palms up.

"Do it," he said. No, the words were not merely said. Draco pleaded, he begged. "Do it, Weasley."

The Gryffindor's red eyes widened minutely at the words, caught off guard by his enemy's acceptance. He looked to Potter, but the other boy was hardly paying attention. The Chosen One sat by Hermione's side, tears running from the bottom of his glasses as he stroked her hair and whispered her name through the chokes in his throat.

Draco was impatient. " _Do it!"_ he screamed, fingers curling into fists as they remained outstretched. "Do it, Weasley! _Kill me! Please!"_

The Weasel still didn't move, too confused or shocked or struck to even be able to fully comprehend the situation he'd been thrust into. Five feet from Draco, he stared at the boy with his lips slightly parted in awe and surprise.

The blond only let out a desperate noise, something between a growl and whimper. "Fine," he choked out, stalking the few feet between them so that the distance was infinitesimal. Draco grabbed Weasley's wand arm, ignoring the boy's shocked noise of reluctance, and forced his freckled hand up so that the thin piece of wood clutched between his fingers jabbed into the Slytherin's throat. A slice of fire raced through his body from where the wand made contact with his skin, but Draco only welcomed this; the pain was nothing in comparison to the agony in his heart.

"Fine," Draco strangled out, "you can't do it, then I'll point your bloody wand for you. Do it, Weasley. Do it! Just say the words. _Two fucking words!_ Just _say them!"_

A sob broke from his teeth again as he stared straight into the boy's eyes, unafraid despite the brokenness in his own gaze. He stared back, owning the pain and hurt and overpowering guilt. Guilt, because it was him. All him. All his fault.

"Come on, Weasel!" Shouted, screamed against the night and the tower and his own falling salt and water. "Don't you understand? I _want_ to die! I _need_ to!"

But Weasley didn't utter the killing curse, the two words that would finally end Draco's misery and culpability once and for all. No, he just stared back, eyes full of horror and amazement and tears, tears so like Draco's. His orbs flicked quickly, ignoring the salt that poured from them, as he tried to process everything.

"I can't live."

His enemy's pleas for death.

"Not…."

His best friend's death.

"Not now."

The confusion link between the two.

"Not _now."_

He had no idea what was going on.

But of course, Draco didn't give a damn about what he knew.

"Please," the blond whispered, a choked sob running off his chin just as two more tears trickled onto his cheeks, dropped from his jawline. "P-please, Weasley. I'm begging you. _Please._ Please…."

The redhead looked to his best friends, one dead, one alive and sitting by her side. The black-haired boy wouldn't look back at him.

Weasley's head stayed down, but his orbs flicked to Draco's. Draco, who was still stabbing the Gryffindor's wand to his neck. Welcoming the fiery busts of heat that seared his skin and burned him black.

"You…." Freckles blending with the reds of his tears. "You killed her. _You_ killed her?"

A question, a seek for affirmation that even though the snake was exactly that, he couldn't be so horrible to commit such a crime. How could _anyone_ kill Hermione Granger in such a coldhearted way? Not even Malfoy, surely, would….

A strained moment of silence passed before he nodded and looked away. Draco strained to swallow against the wand. "I…I as good as killed her. It's my fault she's dead. I tried to save her—God, I tried—but I…I…I didn't know _how."_

He felt his eyes squeezing shut and his cheeks crumpling beneath wet lashes. "I tried." Whispered sobs, mixing with the calm breeze—out of place—and getting lost among the air. "But I couldn't save her. This…this is all my fault. _All_ my fault. I don't deserve to live, to breathe. Kill me. Kill me, Weasley. Please."

The boy looked to Potter, as baffled and broken as ever. The scarred boy finally looked up, eyes a dark green beneath his darker hair and darker expression, though it was filled with love and desperation, grief.

"Harry?" Weasley's voice shook. "Harry, I don't…."

He didn't need to say anything else. The other Gryffindor simply sighed, sniffing as water leaked from his eyes. A hand ran through the girl's hair again as he looked up at his best friend, the one who still carried on.

He swallowed roughly before choking out his jumbled and messy words. "I saw Hermione before I went down. She…she ran, and I told her to come with me, but she refused. Sh-she said…."

He trailed off, his eyes finally looking over to Draco's. His face hardened, and a mixture of hatred and pain filled his eyes. Hatred for the boy who—in his mind—had been the cause of Hermione's death, no matter how it had happened (for he was still unsure). Pain because no matter what he did to him, no matter what had happened, nothing could bring back the girl he'd known and loved for six years.

And she was gone because of Malfoy.

"She said she needed to get to _him_." His head fell, a tear dripping to the floor beneath him. "And I let her go. The last words I ever said to her were accusing and hateful. How could I? How _could_ I?"

Silence hung again. Weasley swallowed as he looked from Potter to Draco, and ever so slowly, he lowered his wand from his enemy's throat. The Slytherin did nothing to stop him, too overcome to do anything but take a step back and let a new tear fall from his eye.

His fault. All his fault.

He wanted to die. _Merlin,_ how he wanted to die. He _needed_ it; "want" could never suffice in describing the feeling in his chest, the ache in his heart, in his very _being._ An ache to be with her, an ache that would never be appeased. All because of him.

And how he despised the other two, for all the pain they'd ever caused Hermione. All the silent treatments, all the ignorance, all the turned shoulders. How Draco wished he could tear them apart and trade their souls for hers.

But of course, he hated himself the most. No matter how much he repeated it, it stung like hell and tore him apart every time the words sounded in his tortured brain: _your fault._

For he'd done far worse to her than Potter and Weasley had.

 _Your fault._

His fault.

Dead, solely because of him. Because of his cowardice. Because he'd been a bloody _fool._

Weasley looked him in the eye as he took a step back. His head shook slowly. More tears as he fell to his knees, mouth open.

Utter loathing in his eyes.

"Damn you, Malfoy," he choked. "Damn you to hell. Damn you to _hell."_

He just took the words, accepted them. Oddly enough, they stung, like a final nail in his coffin. Because he deserved hell, deserved to be thrown into the eternal flame for everything he'd done. And he wished he had been.

 _Damn you to hell._

The four words were a sentence, a sentence for all he'd done.

He deserved such torture. He deserved such pain. How he wished he'd been given the agony, _that_ agony instead of the agony he was suffering through now. For at least then, she'd be safe. She'd be alive.

This was the only thought that bounced within his skull. Even as McGonagall and Flitwick and Slughorn found them, even as they gasped in shock, even as Weasley and Potter spoke words that Draco could not hear. Even as McGonagall talked at him, and even as she helped him to his feet when she realized he could hear nothing she said.

He deserved hell. He deserved torture.

She hadn't.

 _Damn you to hell._

Four words, repeating and repeating and repeating, over and over and over and over again as the students and professors alike dragged themselves from the astronomy tower. As Draco carried Hermione, carried the _dead body of his love_ in his arms, carried her through the all but deserted corridors of the school.

A school she'd loved. A school she'd adored. A school she'd never see again.

Because of him.

 _Damn you to hell._

Sitting in the hospital wing, still clutching desperately at Hermione's body. Not looking up as Madam Pomfrey hurried over, though it seemed in slow motion. Seeing in his peripherals that her hands had flown to her mouth, trying vainly to staunch the strangled cry that fell from her lips. Head shaking. Unbelieving.

 _Damn you._

 _To HELL._

What he deserved. All he deserved.

The professors' voices rang distantly in his ears. Something about how they'd talk in the morning of his fate, how he'd have to stay at Hogwarts for at least another night. Someone sent an elf for his things, saying they'd keep him in the hospital wing. How Pomfrey would talk to him, get his story, check up on him to make sure he was fine.

At one point, the healer instructed him quietly to lay Hermione on a bed. He did so silently, laying her on the one she'd slept in on the night she'd stayed with him after he and Potter had dueled in Myrtle's bathroom. One of the many nights he'd hurt her.

A tear slid down his skin.

 _Damn you to hell._

Draco chose the bed he'd stayed in as his for the night. His suitcase was by his side before long, but of course he didn't care. He just sat, legs dangling lifelessly, shoulders slumped, as he wordlessly and unseeingly stared at Hermione's face.

People passed. Gingers, blonde and wide-eyed Ravenclaws, brunette and nervous Gryffindors, black-haired boys with scars over their glasses. All crying, all screaming for the loss they'd suffer. Never looking at him, never acknowledging his presence. Sitting by Hermione, crying for her, staying for what had to have been until the end of the Earth.

 _Damn. Hell._

Draco hardly noticed them.

And suddenly, they were gone. It was just him, sitting on the bed next to hers, staring at her torn and ruined body. Gazing at her beautiful and horribly blank face. Milky brown eyes that couldn't be closed, that no one could bear to shut.

A pair of heels clicked quietly in the background. Pomfrey, approaching slowly, as if Draco would lash out if she was too fast. But she kept coming, finally sitting beside him. Not speaking a word.

 _Damn you to_ hell, _Draco Malfoy. Damn you._

Slowly, he looked up at Madam Pomfrey. One of the first—one of the _only—_ people to ever know about him and the beautiful and dead girl laying before him.

She didn't offer him a smile. She knew it wouldn't help.

Instead, she urged him to tell her the story of what happened. It took long minutes, maybe an hour, maybe less. But eventually he told her about Bellatrix, the wound, his darkening vision and then her sudden appearance. Her tears. The God forsaken switching spell. _Revocatas Dolorum._ He told her about him living. About her dying.

Pomfrey just nodded, another tear sliding down her cheek. Minutes later, she handed him a potion—a blood replenishing one—spewing out some explanation for why it was important because of the circumstances. He didn't listen to her words, just drained the liquid and nodded.

She stood, swallowing back more tears. Hesitantly, she took Draco's hand; he was too numbly surprised to pull it away.

Madam Pomfrey choked back a sob, clutching his fingers between hers. "She cared for you _so_ much. I know she did. I know you knew. I just…."

A tear split her face in two. "Truly, boy," she whispered, "I am so, so sorry. You deserved much better. You both did."

Madam Pomfrey patted his hand once more, then let go. Crying for them both, she walked away, away to her own quarters. Leaving the boy to sit on the bed, facing Hermione and feeling the dull tears as they continued their treks down his face.

He swallowed and lay down in the deserted hospital wing, bathed in darkness and moonlight and agony. Her dead body, cleaned and shining as beautiful as she ever was in life.

Draco strangled down a sob.

 _Damn you to hell._

If only.

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 **3630 words.**

 **READ THIS: There probably won't be an author's note next chapter for the same reasons as last chapter. I'm telling you right now so that you aren't blind sided. Some of you will hate me, some of you will love me. I just hope you will all come to enjoy how the story ends.**

 **As always, please review.**

 **Love you lots!**


	48. Remembrance, Acceptance

**NO. FLAMES. WHATSOEVER. Think viewpoints over.**

 **Please review.**

 **3432 words.**

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Sleep did not come that night. How could it?

Draco gave up trying to rest his eyes mere minutes after he lay down. Instead, he sat up in bed, legs slung over the edge as he faced Hermione Granger's stiff body. Vertical streaks marked his face, leading from exhausted and puffy silver and red eyes. Eyes that drooped, that cried, that mourned. Water dripped from his jawline onto the collar of the white button-down shirt he'd been provided with, staining it the color of his sorrow.

A charm bracelet trembled between his tired, thin fingers. An emerald with a small snake engraved on its surface lay beneath the silver jewelry, writhing and hissing, showing its fang. So unaware, so oblivious to the fact that its owner now lay dead, unmoving, unresponsive.

Draco's eyes shivered as they shut, not even attempting to hold back the tears as they continued to flow. Hours, it had been, since they'd begun their descent down his face, yet still they fell. It was as if they would never truly cease.

Yet no longer did the boy howl in anguish. His heart had shattered and all that was left was an empty shell, a heaving chest with no essence. Just a body, breathing and dying and crying silently for the girl he had lost.

And he had lost his will to carry on. He could hardly entertain the idea of uttering a syllable of sound, whether it be from pain or from words or anything of the like. He was spent, he was done. Too weary and distraught to do a thing.

Nothing but remember, that is.

The good times.

Draco Malfoy remembered sneaking out of the castle with Hermione to do some late Christmas shopping. He remembered dinner on December 25th and her complete awe. He remembered her fear and white knuckles as she gripped the broomstick beneath her as the two of them flew through the air. He remembered the Valentine's Day Dance and the way she smiled at him, encouraging him to let loose.

The funny moments.

The boy recalled the first official Hogsmeade trip of the year and helping her back to Hogwarts, being amused by her rashness and unpredictability. He recalled Slughorn's Christmas party, where he'd pushed McLaggen into a punch bowl in Hermione's defense, then laughed with her about it later. He recalled New Year's Eve, playing truth or dare with the muggleborn and grunting in pure surprise when she'd kissed him in her drunken state. He never _had_ told her about it, for she couldn't remember a thing the next morning. She'd assumed, and things had been funny and good.

The fights.

Draco hated the fights they'd had. When Hermione had saved his life at the beginning of the year and he'd refused to admit that he'd needed her, instead pushing her away and insulting her to her face. All the fights over the Room of Requirement. When he'd choked her and threatened her. Less than half a day ago, mere hours from her death, when she'd screamed at him, called him a liar for betraying her. These memories were the worst of them; strong nonetheless.

But mostly, Draco Malfoy remembered Hermione Granger's smile. The way it lit up a room and filled him with awe and confusion that it could ever be pointed at him, could be _because_ of him.

He remembered her laugh, how it was light and airy. How—even on the trip back from Hogsmeade when she'd been too intoxicated to walk straight—it had been so full of innocence and so pure.

He remembered the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating, how she was constantly tucking her hair behind her left ear when she was writing, because that side fell in her face most often and irritated her to such an extent. How she was never late to anything, how she was always exactly on time.

The last few hours.

Clinging to her body like it was a lifeline. Rocking back and forth with her in his arms, tightly pressed to his chest as the sun sunk lower in the sky. Crying into her hair, shaking with all that he was as he pleaded to her freezing body to stay with him, even after she was long gone. Doing so even when he knew it to be true yet continuing to deny it.

A tear raced from beneath his right lashes. It connected with the corner of his downturned lip, pooling in the crevice and refusing to fall beyond this point. Draco tasted the salt on his tongue and crumpled further into himself.

He looked into her empty eyes and a quiet sob fell from his lips. He'd give anything to see those orbs smiling again, that face alit with mischief and laughter.

But then he realized that he could.

With shaking fingers, Draco reached down towards his suitcase, unzipping it and extending a hand into its depths. After a moment of rummaging around, he withdrew his hand, the one not clutched around his gifts to Hermione, to pull out one of the two that she'd given him.

It was so stupidly happy, but amazing nonetheless. Picture-Draco smiled as picture-Hermione threw her head back, laughing in pure mirth. After a moment, she wiped the happiness from beneath her eyes and threw a teasing comment in picture-Draco's direction, who just rolled his eyes and lightly shoved her shoulder. The girl only grinned in return.

A tiny smile graced Draco's face as he stared down at the photo while it replayed itself, then replayed itself again, and continued to do so until the very sun exploded. He didn't notice; the Slytherin just kept watching the small photo held in his large hands, smiling sadly at its innocence and lightheartedness.

But she was smiling. She was laughing. That was all he had wanted to see.

Tears ran down Draco's face unashamedly as he gazed at the picture and moved to set it on his bedside table. As he did so, however, he leaned over the top of his suitcase and found that an odd yet familiar heat was floating up towards him.

Digging around within the case, Draco was unsure whether he wanted to receive what he knew it had to be. He didn't know if he wanted to see it, wanted to read the words that surely would greet him.

But too late—for already, the parchment was within his grasp, being pulled from the abyss. There was anxiety in the thought that the words on the page could damn him eternally, for they would be her last words to him. They could yell, could scream, could take back everything he'd thought he knew.

Yet the pull to read her words— _her_ words, written with her own hand—was too great. It almost didn't matter what they meant; Draco _needed_ to read what she'd written.

Steeling himself, he looked down at the parchment.

Immediately, he could tell that she'd written to him two separate times. The first was but a short paragraph:

 _I just saw you run from the astronomy tower.…I thought you wanted to meet me? It's 6:00 right now. What's going on?_

A memory from a few hours previous—how strange to think it hadn't even been twelve hours—rocketed to the forefront of his mind. Draco had raced from the tower, where he'd wanted to meet her, after seeing Dumbledore and Potter and had concocted a plan. He'd been packing his luggage, knowing he'd be needing it later, and had thrown the parchment in without a second thought. Without even realizing that it had grown hot, for she'd penned him before he'd even finished packing.

She'd already being worrying for him.

That was the first part. The second time Hermione had written to him was different; this, Draco could conclude with hardly a glance. It was long—so long—and could only be described as a letter.

Long….All in her hand. From her mind. Her words.

Draco blinked away the tears threatening at the corner of his eyes. He needed— _needed—_ to read this. And he wouldn't allow anything to get in the way.

The last words of hers that he would ever hear, would ever read. Her last words.

Draco took a deep breath, steadying himself.

And dove in headfirst.

 _Draco—_

 _I know what you're going to do. I know what you're doing right now. You asked me to meet, but you left. And I can see the panic written all over your face, the desperation. I've seen you wear that look before. I know._

 _I followed you. Please don't be mad; I know you will be, but I used a Disillusionment Spell and shadowed you to the one-eyed witch statue. I saw you waiting, but I couldn't bear it any longer and so I left. I know what you're waiting for—or rather_ _who._

 _That damn Hogsmeade passage. If I'd known at the time what your mission was or if I'd had any sense at all, then maybe I would have thought twice. Of course you could use it. But how would I have known?_

 _I hope you keep the parchment after you're gone. I hope you don't forget about me once we're apart. Once you've left._

 _There are so many things I want to say to you, but I don't know if I'll ever get the chance. Maybe we'll never see each other ever again. Maybe I'll never get to say another word to you. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is_ _it. __The end. I…I don't want it to be, Draco. I don't want it to end._

 _This whole year. The pain, the confusion, the growth: it can't have been for nothing. I don't want it to just…to just be over. There are still so many things I want to do, so many words I have to say._

 _Yet I suppose time is running out, isn't it?_

 _I'm hurt that you lied to me. I'm wounded that you would tell me you would choose me—"forever and always"—and then just go completely against your own promise. It feels like a dagger in the chest._

 _But…I don't want to waste time writing about that._

 _Draco, even if it was all a lie, I need you to remember what I told you. Despite everything, despite the screams and yells and fights, I'm on your side. Forever and always. And God, I mean it, I mean it with all that I am. I don't give a damn about what anyone thinks or what anyone will do. I need you to know that no matter what, no matter what happens, I'll always be on your side._

 _I support you. In_ _everything_ _. You make bad decisions sometimes, Draco; I think you know that, but they're your own choices. And I support that, and I support you._

 _Your __side. Please remember._

 _I don't know how much more time I have to write, so I'll tell you what I've always begged: make your own choices, Draco Malfoy. Don't give a shit what the world says. Disregard anyone who tells you different. Be your own person, for the man you've been to me has meant the world, has_ _given_ _me the world, even though he'd never believe it. Think things through and make choices. Make the ones you think are right, not the ones your family or anyone else tells you to make. Not even me. All I can ask is that you make the right decisions, the right decisions for_ _you_ _._

 _Acknowledge the world. See the beauty. Point it out to anyone who passes and smile into the grace of everything around you. Open your arms as it snows and turn your face up to the falling white. Feel wonder, feel awe. Ask the questions you never believed you could. Become the person you want to become. Be yourself, not another replica of the person they all want you to be. See the world, its amazingness. Laugh and run and roll in the wintery fields._ _Acknowledge_ _everything you find yourself intrigued by. Don't be misguided._

 _And Draco…I don't know if I'll ever get to say it, so I'll write it to you now._

 _I love you. There. Plain and simple. And I can't begin to understand it because it makes no sense, but I suppose neither do we. It's strange and so foreign and just crazy, but it's true. Maybe I love you because things have been so complicated, so needlessly complicated. Maybe things are only so complicated_ _because_ _I love you. Or maybe it's because I know…that maybe I could never truly have you. I haven't a clue. But I know with everything I am that my heart belongs to you. I guess I can only hope that you feel the same…._

 _Draco, remember. Please. When you're out there, away from me, just remember. Remember this year. Remember Potions. Remember everything and all the times and all the insanity, the craziness and the bliss of just sitting together or hugging or laughing. The friendship, the relief, the love. Do me that one favor._

 _Remember. That's all I ask. And we'll never really be apart. That I'm sure of._

 _I love you. More than you could ever know._

 _Forever yours,_

 _~Hermione_

Draco couldn't read it, couldn't read another line, for his eyes were choked with tears so thick that nothing but blinding anguish shrouded his vision. A sob choked from his throat, the letter shaking in his hands. Her words, so beautifully scrawled, peered up at him with kindness and love within their ink.

With teardrops falling endlessly onto the paper, he forced himself to read her letter again and again and again. A thousand times, for a thousand years until every word was memorized, engraved into his brain.

After it all, after everything. She was still standing by him. Even when she'd still had her mind, hadn't been dying and whimpering in pain, seconds from Death's door, she'd still been on his side. They hadn't just been words. They'd been her very soul, all the intent she'd ever possessed.

Draco sobbed, head bowing over the parchment. Even in the end, she'd stood by him. And after his betrayal, she'd told him she loved him. She had never heard him tell her the same, and she had never been sure.

She had never understood why she died, why she was destined to die from the moment Draco had taken Dumbledore's hand in another reality, another lifetime. And she never would.

She would never hear him tell her that he loved her or hear him say how sorry he was for being so selfish and so uncaring. For throwing away her life. For saving himself by sentencing her.

Before, he'd asked himself: whose life could be more important than his own?

After all this time, he'd found the answer: Hermione's. Her life was infinitely more important than anything he could ever imagine.

But now she was gone, and the flame that had burned within her had died out. The spark was gone. _She_ was gone.

And now that she was gone….

There was nothing left for him to do. No where left to go. No one left to turn to.

Tomorrow morning, Draco Malfoy would have to face the professors. He'd be forced to explain everything. They'd hate him, would blame him rightly for all the problems he'd caused, all the…all the death he'd brought. And they'd send him away to Azkaban, where he'd relive his terrible choices over and over again until he was insane.

But he wouldn't be insane because of Azkaban, no. No, it would be because he was apart from her. Apart from Hermione.

Now that she was gone….

No. He refused. The only thing he'd had left to cling to was her.

Now that she was gone, Draco found…he found that he couldn't live in a world without her. He couldn't. There wasn't a soul left for him. The only thing he wanted now was Hermione, and there was only one way to get to her.

Draco looked back at the parchment. Rereading it one last time.

" _All I can ask is that you make the right decisions; the right decisions for you."_

And Draco smiled. Choices. This was his choice.

Hermione wouldn't love it—she'd hate it, in fact. She would weep and cry for him if she was alive, yet she wasn't. So maybe she'd understand.

But…he knew she'd support him. She always had and she always would. She was on his side, after all.

Forever and always. Just like he'd said, just like she'd repeated.

And now, Draco was going to do something for her: he was going to make the right decision, what he should have accepted the first time around. He was going to do it for the girl, the girl he loved. He was going to greet the thing he'd been running from all along. He would do it for her, even though he knew she'd be broken by it.

The sixteen-year-old boy placed the parchment next to the photo on the bedside table, picking up his wand in place of it. He looked down at his other palm, which held the charm bracelet and emerald. Draco's fingers tightened around the items and raised them to his chest, fighting against himself to stay strong, to not shake. His balled fist pressed over his heart. A tear streamed down his pale cheek.

He was going to accept his death.

And so, his wand gripped between white fingers in a hand that longed to hold a brunette girl once again, to feel her body and her love, Draco Malfoy slashed his stomach open. Watching numbly as the blood gushed, cascaded down his legs, dripped and puddled on the hospital floor.

He let out a breath, falling to his knees on the hard tile, the tile that was already turning a sickly red. His blond head fell back, white neck up towards the ceiling, and pained silver eyes struck brown locks and silent eyes. Agony laced his heart at the sight, but nothing could overcome the love he felt in that moment.

Draco dragged himself towards her side, crawling to the bed. With all the strength he possessed, he forced his top half to splay atop the sheets, slumping over the side of them as he looked upon her face, his own blood staining the covers a tormented crimson. His hand fell near her leg, fingers unfurling as the gifts met with sweet oxygen. Oxygen that Draco struggled to swallow as his wand dropped to the floor and his head collapsed by her pillow.

Panting and ignoring the blood that washed over him as he did so, Draco's eyes slowly found her face, unfocused. Hermione. So peaceful, even in death. Beautiful.

His hand reached for hers, grasping it even as it shook with agony and overwhelming feeling.

He loved her, more than anything.

Blood ran from the corner of his mouth, dripping onto the sheets. His stomach heaved as it fought, yet only more blood spilled sorrowfully onto the floor, splashing and making him crumble in torture. It was blinding, was driving up his throat and through his limbs, killing every nerve and ripping agony down into his very center.

But somehow…somehow, he couldn't care less as he lay there. Content in watching Hermione as the room grew darker and darker still. Content in looking at her face, longing and love clear in his gaze. Content in knowing that soon…soon, everything would be better.

His fingers, red, tightened around hers.

Soon, he'd be with her. Soon, he'd tell her just what he thought, just what she needed to hear. That he loved her, that he'd loved her for months. That he'd fight through all of heaven and hell just to hold her in his arms, just to kiss her. Just to protect her.

Because that's what love made you do.

That's how love made you feel.

Like nothing in the world mattered, nothing could ever compare to the feelings she'd elicited in him. The emotions she'd awakened.

To Draco Malfoy, nothing mattered more than Hermione Granger. Nothing could even compare.

For soon…

Soon…

Soon…she'd know this. He'd make sure she knew.

He squeezed her hand weakly in his.

And as a last sigh left his parted lips, as a last tear fell from his fading silver eyes, as the light faded from his vision for the final time, Draco Malfoy smiled.

His hand fell limply from hers.


	49. White and Black

**Yeah I know I'm the worst. Hey only one more chapter left though, at least there aren't a lot left for me to be bad at posting haha...**

 **Small note, I got a comment saying that the story doesn't seem to have a bittersweet ending. That's for this chapter and the next. Hopefully you won't be disappointed.**

 **Oh also lmk if there are any typing or grammar mistakes. I had to write this on my phone and let me tell you, it SUCKS.**

 **I love you all so much. Enjoy!**

* * *

" _[Harry would] never fully understand it, but his love for his friend and the shocking realization of the circumstances created a certain complacency for the situation. This was what Hermione wanted. This was what Malfoy died for."_

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There was a shrill, piercing scream that tore through the castle like a knife down a tapestry. Disruptive of an already melancholy and eerie and pandemonium-filled sort of peace.

Madam Pomfrey's expression was one of horror and hysteria as her screech reverberated. This had not, _could_ not have happened, for it had been right under her nose, yet she'd failed to even suspect a thing.

Two dead bodies. One, two. Right there, right in front of her, and both completely out of nowhere.

It didn't take long for McGonagall, Flitwick, and the likes to appear once the healer had summoned for them to come. They, too, were as shocked as she, perhaps even more so, for Pomfrey had at least known of a relation between the two now-dead students.

Then came Weasley and Potter. The other Weasley, Longbottom, Lovegood.

Harry and Ron didn't know how to take it. They didn't know what to think. Here lay the boy they'd despised their whole lives, had loathed and glared at. So what, pray tell, was he doing next to Hermione?

There he was, upper half splayed unceremoniously upon the bed of Hermione Granger. His stomach split open grotesquely, blood ran down his front and stained the floor and pale legs black. Whiteness drained completely, sunken grey skin below stiff stalks of hair. His cheekbones were tensed still, colorless and taught, and his dark brow a line across blank plains of pain.

Yet the worst of it all, the oddest and most confusing and most stomach churning, was that his eyes were open. His lips were smiling. Those steel orbs were staring, those parted lips upturned. As if he was happy to be gone.

Harry swallowed and shivered.

The wing was as silent as death. Not a person moved, not a person breathed in this room of black and white and grey. There were no shades of grey in death.

Harry took a strenuous step forward, heel clicking and shattering the silence. Approaching the bed. Approaching Draco Malfoy, his hated enemy, his adversary.

A drop of blood splashed a centimeter from his shoe as he stopped.

Hermione. So good. So beautiful. Loving, caring, gentle, yet fiery. Eyes open, staring above her, refusing to acknowledge the people around her. Stony, silent, almost as if she was mad.

Then Malfoy. _Malfoy_. So pretentious. So self-absorbed. Irritating, narcissistic, callous, yet alone. Eyes open, staring next to him, looking straight at the body of a girl he hadn't known, he couldn't possibly have known. Regretful, pained, almost as if he hated himself because of her.

But that was incorrect, that was stupid. She was a girl he hadn't known, so how could that be possible? Not only had he never allowed himself to know her, Harry thought, but he'd despised her for no reason. He'd teased, he'd ridiculed.

But then...why the face? Why an expression of such horrible loss, such hysteria, yet such peace?

That smile. It threw it all off.

Harry swallowed a rising sense of confusion, of panic. No, no this was all wrong, this was all off.

What the hell was _Malfoy_ doing here, dead?

He didn't know her. He couldn't have.

But then Harry noticed something. He noticed, clasped within the cold white fingers of a boy whose soul was black as pitch, two items. A charm bracelet. An emerald with an engraving of a snake.

The Gryffindor was immediately thrown backwards into a memory, a memory of sitting next to one Hermione Granger in Charms class the Wednesday after the holiday break. Of noticing her fiddling with a bracelet on her left wrist, of asking what it was.

" _A present,_ " she'd said. " _From an old friend from home."_

 _No..._

But why was Draco Malfoy holding onto it?

She'd said it a little too nonchalantly, Harry realized. She'd had to, or he'd have had second thoughts.

 _No_...

But the emerald. The emerald. That did it for the black-haired boy. How had he _missed_ it?

The Valentine's Day Dance. The emerald of a _snake_ on her _green_ dress. The...the boy she'd been with, draped in red robes and a mask the size of a small house. _Silver eyes._

God, how had he _missed_ it? Those silver eyes! Of course Hermione would be smart enough to change the appearance of her date, to make him wear the colors he'd least be expected to don; she'd done it herself! How had he failed to think that over?

But those eyes. He'd seen them. Harry had stared right into them for a solid five seconds, had contemplated them. Yet he'd somehow completely missed seeing who they belonged to.

The eyes. The robes. The fight with Ron. The bracelet, the emerald. The look on Draco Malfoy's dead, unmoving, terrifying face.

 _No..._

 _No, I—_

This couldn't be. This couldn't be, it couldn't be that _Draco Malfoy_ was Hermione's secret. It just...couldn't be.

Harry took a step back—from shock or the fumes of such an overwhelming amount of blood, he couldn't say—and bumped the bedside table. Such a small movement, but it caused a piece of parchment to fall to the ground.

He picked it up. He turned it over. His eyes grew.

A note, in Hermione's hand and _long_ , so long. Addressed to Draco. Not Malfoy. Draco.

It took four minutes for Harry to read the letter while the other occupants of the hall stood in silence, in shock of what all was happening. There was nothing to say to break such a choking quiet.

When he finished it, Harry lowered his arm slowly to his side. A breath left him, slowly yet as if he'd been punched in the chest. A tear pricked at the corner of his eye, yet refused to fall as he breathed in utter surprise, utter self-loathing.

Draco Malfoy. Hermione Granger. White and black. Hot and cold.

Potions class. Sneaking out using a secret passageway. Sitting together, hugging, laughing. He'd said he'd choose her "forever and always". She'd said she was on his side "forever and always".

She supported him. She wanted him to live his own life. She wanted him free of all the pain he endured, to smile, to enjoy the things around him. She'd shown him the beauty in things and had begged to the only god she knew that he'd listen to her, would love life as best as she could show him to. She'd wanted him to laugh. She'd wanted him to remember.

A memory from not even a day ago came to Harry in that moment. His hand clasping her arm, and Hermione whipping around ferociously to rip herself free. Her chest heaving with passion and a promise in her eyes that she would explain everything to him later.

Later was a promise that never came.

But he understood everything. He understood why she was so desperate to get to Malfoy, to get away from Harry.

She'd loved him.

And it horrified the boy.

Horrified, he was, but not because it was Hermione and Malfoy— _Malfoy—_ but because _he'd_ missed it. He'd been blinded by hatred and history to even spare a glance. He never comprehended the fleeting look Hermione would give when Malfoy walked into the Great Hall. He never comprehended the fact that Hermione had never asked to switch Potions partners. He never even thought to think over why Hermione had never told him who'd gone with her to the dance.

And the fact that she had been happier. Her eyes had been fuller, her smile wider. Weighed down some days, but often as light as the air that had likewise been so full of secrecy.

She'd loved him.

And Harry, who was supposed to be her best friend, never suspected a thing. How bad a person was he, to not even notice! Here had been someone as averse to Malfoy as he, probably more so because she often was the direct prey to his predatory remarks, and she'd come to forgive him. She'd come to overlook their pasts, had given him a chance at redemption. She'd seen the person no one ever had. The person Harry had never suspected he was, the person he was still skeptical about yet astonished by.

She'd loved him. Hermione Granger had loved Draco Malfoy.

Those silver eyes. That bracelet. The emerald, and a hissing serpent.

How had Harry been so stupid, so blind?

She'd loved him. And Harry had never known.

The audience of waiting witches and wizards were identically as shocked as Harry when he read the letter. There were cries, gasps, silent tears. Explanations were in order, of course, but how could one stand to demand anything on that day?

One couldn't.

Harry lay the letter back on the bedside table, turning to face the bodies of the two dead teenagers. One lying down, the other stretched out in a desperate attempt to be with her.

And he'd loved her too, clearly. He'd killed himself to be with her.

His fingers were outstretched, mere centimeters from the skin of her palm. Eyes pained yet peaceful, peaceful because he knew. He knew he'd be with her soon.

The tear bit at the edge of Harry's eye as he shook his head. He'd never had any clue.

Draco had loved Hermione. His dead orbs remained on her face. Full. Sad. Heartbroken.

In his last moments, she was all he'd wanted, all he'd ever need in those finals seconds. Now still, he could never have her, for they were too far apart.

Harry's heart ached and his eyes squeezed shut. He'd never fully understand it, but his love for his friend and the shocking realization of the circumstances created a certain complacency for the situation.

This was what Hermione wanted. This was what Malfoy died for.

And so, a tear finally rolling down his cheek, Harry placed Malfoy's outstretched hand in that of Hermione's. He closed their eyes, swallowing at the ache in his heart as he glimpsed his friend's brown orbs for the last time.

Then he turned his back and walked from the two teens he had never suspected, had never thought of, and would never get to understand.

White and black. As similar as the two.

* * *

 **1700 words. Nice.**

 **One more chapter left *insert crying emoji here* god I'm going to miss this story so much, even though I've been a bitch at updating it.**

 **Never forget that I love you guys! I'd be nothing without you all. Sorry for being the worst. Hope you enjoy the last chapter.**

 **Love you lots!**


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